


Caliga RPG: The World Spins Madly On

by Elle Blessingway (elle_blessing)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Caliga Ortus RPG, F/M, Gen, Role-Playing Game, Roleplaying Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 25,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_blessing/pseuds/Elle%20Blessingway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, vignettes, and one shots based on the characters I write at <a href="http://caliga-rpg.livejournal.com/">Caliga Ortus RPG</a>, and the next gen spinoff, Caliga Babes. Pairings and character combinations represented thus far can be viewed at the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/818589/navigate">chapter index</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Shiny (Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Katie Bell)

**Author's Note:**

> Caliga Ortus RPG is a Harry Potter role-playing game on LiveJournal ([caliga_rpg](http://caliga-rpg.livejournal.com/)) where I write the canon characters Katie Bell, Gwenog Jones and Pansy Parkinson, semi-canon character Mira Montgomery, as well as the following original characters: Joscelin Jones, Reese Ashley, and Nate Rosier. Character bios and relationships for my characters can be found [here](https://sites.google.com/site/elletator/home/harry_potter/caliga_ortus).
> 
> A full list of Caliga RPG players and characters can be found [here](http://caliga-rpg.livejournal.com/profile).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Katie discovers her shinies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for seegrim at a 2008 drabble meme. Fred is written by silverstarshine at Caliga RPG.

Fred and George liked to think they had commandeered the whole of the Gryffindor common room as their war room. That it was nearing three in the morning and everyone was asleep anyways was unimportant in their minds. The fire-lit room was their domain at all wee hours.

The low hum of their quiet talking was cut off when they heard the padding of feet moving towards them.

Little Katie Bell appeared in the circle of weak light given by the dying fire and both Fred and George let go of the breath they’d been holding.

After the adrenalin of the moment faded, Fred and George looked at Katie closely.

She was just a first year, as new as new could get as the term was not even two months old yet. Halloween was the following weekend.

They played Quidditch with her, but she was only a reserve. It was impressive all the same as she was smaller than Ginny even, and it wasn’t often that first years made it on the team at all. Besides the shenanigans they generally got on with everyone on the team, neither of them had talked to Katie much. But they had noticed the shy smiles and her propensity to turn pink.

If they weren’t positive she might break or something equally dire, Fred and George thought she’d be rather perfect to prank. Teasing was better though. They liked seeing her turn pink when they spoke to her.

She wasn’t pink now though. Teeny tiny Katie Bell looked very much like she’d had an awful dream. And she didn’t much look like the Katie Bell they were used to seeing.

They both tilted their heads at the same time as they looked at her. She had _a lot_ more blond hair than they’d thought. The braids she normally wore very much hid the fact that little Katie had hair that was very nearly as long as she was. 

Their eyes came to her face then; eyes bright and lashes spiked as if there’d been a few tears, expression scared and a little lost.

Fred and George turned to each other as one, a decision made in just the moment it took to look at each other, and then they both looked at Katie.

“Tell us about the bad dream?” Fred asked.

“Over here, in the middle?” George echoed, tossing the cushion that had been between him and his brother on a chair nearby.

“We promise not to bite,” George added, thinking she looked very much like Ginny and not at the same time. He wanted to keep her, too, though, he decided.

“At least not tonight,” Fred said, pleased, though he wasn’t exactly sure why when Katie’s cheeks tinted pink and she offered them both a small smile.

Looking between the two boys, Katie padded over to them and crawled onto the couch between them. They were warm and she was sure if anyone could make night terrors run away, it was Fred and George. They could defeat anything with smiles and fun.

Almost as one, the twins moved closer to her on either side, a little fascinated by this small person that was like their sister, but not. They both reached out to finger the soft ends of her blond hair, still surprised that there was so much of it, and even moreso, that it was soft.

Not much bothered by the fact that they were touching her because she was more relieved to be in their presence than anything, especially after the dream she’d had, Katie glanced from one to the other.

“Fred,” she said, caught in his eyes when they found hers like a dart, “and George,” she continued when Fred let her move on and be promptly caught in the same way by his brother. “Did you know that you’re shiny? The firelight makes the ginger glow and very pretty.”

Fred and George looked at each other for a split moment over Katie’s head, a slightly crooked smile pulling at their lips in mirror image. 

_She knew us apart without even trying._


	2. Contentment (Greg Goyle/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for airmidm at a 2008 drabble meme. Greg Goyle was written by airmidm at Caliga RPG.

Greg was completely relaxed.

A movie was currently playing, but his contented state had much more to do with the fact that he was reclined on the sofa with his head pillowed in his girl’s lap, her fingers running through his hair as he idly twined the fingers of her other hand with his, pressing kisses to her knuckles when he had the desire to have his lips on her skin.

Which was quite often, and on every inch of her body, but he was content with the small, familiar touches for now.

He knew she was watching the movie, but it made him smile against her skin every time he pressed his lips to her hand; he could _feel_ her focus on him – the stillness in her body as she waited, and the tightening of her fingers in his hair as she unconsciously reacted to even the barest of touches – until he pulled back and she lost herself in the show once again.

Greg hadn’t been paying attention to the movie for quite some time, happily occupied with spreading her palm against his and wondering at how small hers was in comparison, but when he felt a warm droplet hit his cheek, his attention was instantly caught by the owner of his wonderment.

“Pixie,” he said; question, statement, love.

“It was just sad, but the happy kind and now I’m crying on you, but I didn’t mean to,” Katie replied, trying to explain even as her cheeks tinted pink, another lone tear sliding down her skin.

Pressing a kiss to her palm, Greg rolled up in one movement and pulled Katie into his arms. “The happy kind of sad, Pixie? Do I need to level anyone?” he asked, tone serious though his eyes were bright.

Smiling, though it didn’t dispel her blush, Katie shook her head. “I don’t think happy sads can be scared away like that,” she replied, hands braced on his chest and fisting in the material of his tee.

Eyes darkening as he watched her, Greg caught her gaze even as he slid a hand into her hair, thumb brushing the last tear from the heated skin of her cheek before grazing across her full lower lip.

“Another way then,” he rumbled before capturing her lips, his other hand tightening its hold on her waist when she sighed into his mouth.


	3. All of His (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for jandjsalmon at a 2008 drabble meme. Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG.

If someone had told Fred a year ago that he was a very near future father-to-be and that he’d be _thrilled_ about it, he’d have laughed in their face. 

Roaming clubs and sleeping with whoever caught his fancy for the night seemed like a lifetime ago now. Fred vaguely recalled his claims of enjoying his bachelorhood and that he’d never settle, that all that romantic stuff was just a lot of sentimental shite.

It seemed he was full of sentimental shite.

Who’d ‘a thought?

He couldn’t recall being happier than he was at the moment, though.

With his fiancé tucked against his chest as they both watched the sunset from her little seaside cottage, Fred couldn’t imagine anything that could make the moment better.

Katie's eyes were heavy, fluttering as if to shut as Fred pet her hair and down her arms, brushing soft kisses against her temple; the late afternoon sun and the light sea breeze, the sound of happy barks as the dogs ran around the cottage lulling her to sleep.

A soft ‘oh’ of surprise left her lips then, lids fluttering open as she felt movement inside of her. The boys were awake. She’d been feeling them kick and move for weeks, but no one else had yet.

Hoping, she turned her face up to Fred, head resting against his shoulder as she looked up at him. “Shiny, they’re awake,” she murmured, voice still a little heavy with her sleepiness.

Expression brightening, Fred gave her his hand. “Show me, Kit.”

Taking his hand in both of hers, Katie placed his palm low on her belly, her little hands covering both of his as if it would help him _finally_ feel what she could.

She watched their hands as if they would tell her all the answers before tipping her head back to look up at Fred just behind her. “Can you feel them?”

Fred waited. He looked at Katie and her hopeful expression and was putting off telling her that no, he couldn’t. He took a breath to do so when his brows shot up and his gaze went to her rounded belly. A crooked grin tipped his lips as he felt, for the first time, his sons.

Seeing his expression, a beaming smile lit Katie’s features. She felt more whole, more complete than she could ever remember being. Her babies inside of her, and Fred wrapped around them all; she couldn’t imagine being happier.

“That’s Devon,” she said after a moment, voice soft. “He always wants me to know he’s awake and that I should be thinking of him.”

Katie moved his hand slightly to the side and though there was no movement beneath their hands, she continued. “Corey’s here. He knows I think of him always.”

Fred’s gaze shifted from his and Katie’s hands to his girl, and as always, the moment she felt his eyes on her, she looked up at him. She was beautiful to him in a way he couldn’t describe, and he slid his free hand into her hair, thumb brushing lightly across her cheek.

“I love you, Kit,” he murmured, eyes dark on hers before he bent his head to capture her lips even as he splayed his other hand across her belly, holding all of his close, _loving_ all of his.


	4. Spell of Chemistry (Joscelin Jones/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for autumnrhythm30 as part of a 2008 drabble meme. These characters have only had peripheral interaction in the RPG, so this is a 'what if?' scenario.

Joscelin could understand why his sister was suited to professional Quidditch. For all that she was built on the dainty side, she burned with an intensity and energy that you couldn’t help but respect. That, or be burned and hope to live to regret it.

Little Katie Bell though.

Now that he was home, no longer carousing around the continent with his ‘damn dragons’ as Gwen was want to call them, Joscelin had made it a point to go to every single Harpies game. His sister played seeker, but that was only exciting to watch the few times it looked as if she or the opposing team’s seeker had found the snitch. Otherwise, eyes were glued to the action, and specifically more often than not, Joscelin found his eyes drawn to the smallest little blond bit he’d ever seen in professional robes.

Katie Bell was the most prolific scorer for the Harpies, though. Besides his sister, she was the fastest on a broom and nearly as agile. For all that, she was completely unassuming. Joscelin had watched her play avidly all season and despite her numbers, the other teams still seemed to constantly dismiss her as unthreatening.

Joscelin didn’t understand it. From the stands and from the statistics, she looked to be the most threatening player on the pitch besides Gwen.

He was still trying to puzzle it all out as he waited for Gwen after the Harpie’s latest win against the Appleby Arrows. Normally he met up with her at the Tretower Court as it always seemed to take her hours to get away from the press and her other post-game responsibilities as captain, but she’d promised to be quick and he found himself sprawled on a sofa in the lobby area outside the main offices and locker rooms, waiting. And puzzling.

When he heard the tittering of female voices though, Joscelin’s attention was pulled from his musings to the opening locker room door to see the object of his current line of thought exiting.

She’d been smiling at whatever had been said to her as she left the sanctuary of females, but when [KATIE](http://thewrongadvices.com/info-extras/Anna-Kournikova.jpg) turned around, her gaze went straight to the man sprawled across the lobby sofa and she felt a blush tinting her cheeks as she met his eyes. He had a heavy gaze and she could fairly _feel_ his eyes on her. 

Joscelin’s focus narrowed completely to the woman not more than a few long strides away from him as she tinted pink. Sitting up from his lounge, he offered her a crooked smile. “You played great today, Miss Bell,” he said, watching her and surprised to find she was smaller than he’d even originally thought.

Stepping out of the shadow of the doorway and towards the man grinning at her, Katie tucked a lock of wavy blond hair behind her ear and offered him a shy smile. “I like being Katie better than ‘Miss Bell,’” she said softly, adding, “and thank you, Mr. .. ?”

“Jones,” he supplied, eyes following her movements and wondering at how such a small, shy little thing had become one of the best female Chasers in the league.

“But call me Joscelin, or Jos if you’d like. Mr. Jones sounds entirely too much like my father,” he continued, eyes twinkling as he stood up and offered his hand. _Gods, she’s tiny._

“Jones?” Katie asked even as she gave him her hand, eyes a little wide with surprise. Her cheeks tinted a soft pink again when his large hand wrapped hers up and her gaze went to where he clasped her, breath caught a moment before she looked up at him. “Gwen’s not married though?” she asked, a little confused.

“No, she’s not, and Godric help the man she does someday,” Joscelin chuckled, eyes alight with merriment at the thought of some poor sod being married to his demanding harpy of a sister.

“I’m her brother, long lost and found, or some such,” he continued, twinkling eyes taking in every little reaction; the flush of her skin, the wide eyed gaze she gave him hinted with a bit of confusion, the soft catch of breath when he touched her.

Joscelin found that he was reluctant to let go of her hand, if only because him touching her seemed to cause the most _interesting_ reactions. She was rather pretty with her shy smiles and blushes, too.

“Oh!” Katie breathed, hand clenching reflexively in his at her wild assumption. “I didn’t mean to … brother, right,” she got out finally, dropping her gaze.

A slow smile pulled at Joscelin’s lips as he watched Katie. He was completely charmed. And he still hadn’t let go of her hand.

He was beginning to understand why other teams didn’t think to watch out for her until it was much too late. She really _was_ completely unassuming and it came off her in waves. She projected ‘unthreatening’ like it was an integral part of her. It was no wonder that she always seemed to be open on the pitch. No matter how much you planned to mark her closely, once you got near, it was impossible to think of her as anything near dangerous.

Joscelin resisted the urge to brush his thumb across the back of her hand, but he did give her much smaller one a light squeeze. “It’s fine, love. As long as you don’t mind indulging a slighted man to your company for dinner?” he ventured, entirely pleased as she raised her gaze to his with another pretty blush and that little shy smile of hers.

Caught in his gaze, Katie unconsciously took a step towards him, her hand holding onto his like it was a line reeling her in. She’d thought her captain charismatic, but it seemed the quality of extreme magnetism seemed to run in the family and it was heightened tenfold in her brother. Joscelin Jones pulled at her like no one she’d ever met, and with the way he was currently looking her, she wanted to be as near to him as possible, a thought which caused her to blink out of her haze. And blush again for her thoughts.

Ticking back to what Joscelin had said to her, Katie looked up at him and found herself just a little breathless as she answered. “I’d like dinner. With you, I mean,” she replied, sure she was going to exist in a perpetual state of pink. 

Joscelin wanted to touch her. Brush his fingers across the heat painting her cheeks, tuck her hair behind her ear for her, or with her even, to feel the reaction he knew she’d have to the touch and just to feel her hair. He wanted to pull her against him and watch her as the expressions flitted across her face for each new sensation.

She was like an open book for him and he wanted to study every line, tease out every reaction. He resisted, but he _wanted_.

“Dinner with me and you then,” he said finally, voice rumbling a little lower than normal not only for the thoughts running through his head, but her breathlessness _just_ from meeting his gaze.

His sister would be fine on her own. For all that Gwen said she’d be quick, he very much doubted it, and Joscelin had new plans. He was very much beyond avidly watching Katie Bell play Quidditch. He was decided on taking the research a little further and getting to know the witch who seemed to have him under a spell.


	5. Wee Ones (Katie Bell, Reese Ashley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for mugglechump!Kate at a 2008 drabble meme.

“Katie Kat?” Reese asked, twirling a lock of Katie’s hair against her cheek to feel the softness.  
  
“Hmm?” Katie hummed, lids fluttering open. The early summer sunshine was bright to her eyes and she turned towards her friend and away from the direct stare of light.  
  
“What’s it feel like to be wrapped up by your gingers?” Reese asked, turning her head to meet her friend’s gaze, if a little upside down considering the way they were lying in the grass; toes pointing in different directions, but two shades of blonde hair, honey gold and pale fairy dust, mixed together they were so close.  
  
Katie looked at her friend as she considered her answer to this very serious question. She didn’t often try to verbalize how something like that felt. She _knew_ what she felt, but it was different putting such into words. She would try though, because she knew Reese needed words, the out loud kind. Katie was sure her very best friend had never had a thought that was inside that didn’t come out of her mouth in a spill of words.  
  
“It’s …” Katie’s gaze flicked to the movement of Reese’s hand as she continued to brush a blond lock against her cheek before coming back to the bright green gaze looking earnestly at her. “… it’s like being in the most hot place in the world without burning up. It’s the good kind of light and warmness to want, like …”  
  
Her gaze drifted past Reese then as she tried to find the right words for what she was thinking, eyes lighting a moment later as the view beyond her friend gave her an idea “… like the way a flower wants the sunshine. It wants to be near because the sun is warm and wonderful, and makes it grow and happy.”  
  
Reese turned Katie’s words over in her head as she watched her friend’s hazel eyes go from grey to an almost blue; Katie was pleased she had figured out how to answer the question and Reese couldn’t help but smile.  
  
“Being wrapped up in shinies is like being surrounded by all the good things that make you feel safe and happy, and being able to absorb it because there’s just _so_ much?” Reese asked then, making sure she understood what her friend had said.  
  
Katie smiled. “Yes, just exactly like that.”  
  
A smile lit Reese’s face in response. “That’s what I thought.”  
  
Her gaze drifted up then, from the Quidditch hoops on either side of the pitch to the clouds floating overhead. “Alfred’s not a very bright shiny, but he makes me feel like that. He’s my very own sunshine, like winter light that’s not very bright but it makes you happy anyways because it’s a break in the dreary winter clouds.”  
  
Katie’s thoughts went to Reese’s guardian then, the image of grey hair and sparkling blue eyes coming to mind and she smiled at her friend’s profile before turning her gaze up too. She was a little sad their fourth year was almost over and they’d not have days to lounge around like this until the next school term; Reese was _always_ gone all summer long.  
  
“That definitely sounds just like Alfred,” she agreed after a moment, “and he’s your very own,” she added.  
  
“Mmhmm. And you’ve two boiling hot summer sunshines for _your_ very own,” Reese replied, lids drifting shut so she could concentrate on the breeze blowing the smell of wildflower blooms to them. “Fred and George and you are all the summer kind of warm, actually, like a sunset in Fiji with all gold and amber and fiery reds.” Her lids fluttered open then, adding, “and rose pinks for you, because you’re softer then they are.”  
  
Katie turned her gaze back to Reese then, a small smile touching her lips. “They’re not _really_ mine, not all the way,” she said softly, though her eyes were bright as she tried to imagine the painting Reese would do with all those colors.  
  
Turning back to her friend, Reese looked at her a moment before disagreeing readily. “Of course they are. They’re yours and you’re theirs. You all just don’t know it all the way yet,” she said, dropping the lock of hair she’d been playing with and running a finger down the bridge of Katie’s nose. “I can only paint what’s really there, or what’s going to be, and I’m going to do your sunset; you and Fred and George. It’s all there for me to see and I’m going to put it into a map of just the right colors.”  
  
A shy smile touched Katie’s lips at the thought that Reese’s words might be true. “It sounds really pretty.”  
  
“It will be,” Reese said, smiling brightly at her friend. “It’ll have you in it and all my paintings with you in them are pretty.”  
  
And it was true. Reese painted people’s insides in an abstract of color and Katie was the most beautiful collection of colors she’d ever put to a canvas, and she was always more vivid when she was with her gingers.  
  
Reese’s grin turned a little bit wicked then as she continued. “I bet Fred and George would think it’s _very_ pretty too, because it has you.”  
  
Katie couldn’t help the blush that crept up her skin at Reese’s insinuation, or that her thoughts strayed to Fred and George, and she had a curious thought of what it’d be like for them to _really_ think she was pretty like Reese was implying.  
  
She shook her head then, dismissing it. They weren’t meant for her like that. Fred belonged to Angie when they wanted those things, and Lee too sometimes, she knew. George didn’t seem to want to belong to anyone yet, but she was sure it’d never be her.  
  
Ignoring such thoughts and the blush tinting her cheeks pink, Katie looked at Reese with bright eyes. “Just like Beckett Dunstan would think a painting with you was pretty?” she asked pointedly of the older Slytherin Reese had attached to, sticking her tongue out briefly at her friend before grinning.  
  
Katie knew it was because Beckett was very shiny too, and he felt a little dangerous besides. Reese always liked those combinations, and Katie would have told someone in an effort to try and keep Reese safe, but the older Slytherin seemed a mixture of amused and resigned by her friend, and so Katie hadn’t worried overly much.  
  
“Beckett doesn’t think I’m pretty at all,” Reese replied easily, though she smiled at Katie’s antics and leaned over enough to nuzzle her friend’s nose in an Eskimo kiss, upside down.  
  
“He’s got all kinds of girls to think of as pretty, and everyone knows he shows them all the time just how much he thinks it. I’m not one of his pretties.” Reese’s gaze drifted back up to the clouds floating overhead. “But that’s okay. He’s nice to sleep on and we’re only at life three, which is kind of a fun game too.”  
  
Katie wasn’t so sure that game was _supposed_ to be fun; Gryffindor kittens were not _really_ supposed to use up all nine of their lives.  
  
Glancing over at her friend, Reese flashed a grin and a tinkling laugh escaped her at Katie’s expression. “I promise I’m not _trying_ for them Katie Kat, but Beckett _is_ keeping track and it’s kinda fun to see what counts as a life.”  
  
Her nose crinkled then. “I didn’t actually get anything but some scratches and bruises when I tried to inspect the Whomping Willow the other day. I don’t think that really counts as a life, but Beckett just used the shiny look that said he’s right and I need to go to the infirmary.”  
  
Katie glanced over at Reese then, startled. “You _what?!_ ”


	6. Hate You (Gwenog Jones/Bishop Rascaile)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for mugglechump!Kate as part of a 2008 drabble meme. Bishop Rascaile is Kate's original character.
> 
> Joscelin Jones is Gwenog Jones' older brother, and Bishop is his best friend. In the current timeline Gwen and Bishop are as close as siblings, and settled with other people. This is just a snapshot into the relationship they had a decade and a half in the past.

“Nice game, Gwenny,” Bishop drawled as the object of his statement finally came off the Holyhead Harpies pitch. Two hours after the game had ended.

Gwen had her wand drawn from her thigh holster and pointed at his neck in less time than it took for her to take a long breath. Eyes flashing at the infuriating man her brother called a best friend, Gwen let the tip of her wand dig into his skin just a bit.

“Don’t call me that,” she said, voice low and heated from her irritation at herself for a horrible performance, and at Bishop just for _being_. “And do try not to spout anymore shite than you’re normally wont to. I do _not_ need pissing bastards adding to an already unfortunate pile of shite the game was.”

Smirk tugging at his lips, Bishop pushed off the doorframe he’d been up against and leaned into her wandpoint, avidly watching the sparks jump around in her eyes. “It’s not your fault the Chasers couldn’t put the quaffle through the hoops to save a gimp hippogriff today,” he replied, pulling his hands from his pockets and catching her wrists in a strong grip.

“I should have caught the snitch sooner,” Gwen replied, gaze snapping from Bishop’s eyes intently dark on her to his grip on her wrists. He hadn’t moved her yet, and the stillness was beginning to irritate her. Bishop’s very existence irritated her. _Couldn’t Joscelin have chosen a more tolerable companion in which to inflict on me as his friend?_

“You’ve caught the snitch first in every game so far this season,” Bishop said, eyes darkening as she struggled. “I’d say you’re doing well for your first season as starting Seeker.”

“Drop your wand, Gwen,” he said then, fingers tightening further around her small wrist. It always amazed him how small she was. One only remembered that she was daintily built when one touched her.

Bishop _liked_ touching her. A lot.

“No,” Gwen replied heatedly though her breath had gone short, her eyes dark as she met his and struggled to free herself.

A dark smile curled his lips at the answer he knew she was going to give him, and Bishop adjusted his grip and squeezed in just the spot that would … _there we are_. Gwen’s lips parted on a soft gasp of pain and her wand dropped to the ground between them. Bishop hadn’t been a Hit Wizard for the last five years and learned nothing.

Awareness and irritation flashed through her drowning dark eyes in turn, and in a single move, Bishop had both her wrists clasped behind her back in one of his hands.

Gwen’s front was pressed firmly to Bishop’s chest and she glared up at him, cursing herself for the heat rising in her core that _wanted_.

“I really do hate you,” she said then, voice low and smooth, the sound making his eyes visibly darken. Gwen was pleased for the small battle won and tried pulling at his grip on her wrists again, body shifting against his with every struggling movement, torturing them both.

A growl rumbled through his chest at her words; Bishop was sure he could _feel_ the low timbre of her voice, velvety smooth and warm spice heating his blood along with the movement of her body against his.

His other hand slipping into her hair, Bishop angled her head back, eyes focusing on the slight part of her lips the roughness caused. His gaze found hers again, and a small, dark smile played at his lips as her eyes flashed up at him.

“I hate you too, Harpy,” he murmured before capturing her lips.


	7. Chase Her (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell/George Weasley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for autumnrhythm30 at a 2008 drabble meme. Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG.

Fred and George Weasley blinked.

They hadn’t seen their little Katie Bell for the whole of the summer as she’d been traveling with her grandmother’s caravan. Having just jostled onto the pitch for their knock around with the returning players of the Gryffindor Quidditch team before the Sorting Ceremony later that evening, both their words trailed off as Katie swooped down and hopped off her broom, wind tossed and smiling happily at them.

She wasn’t so little anymore.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Katie was as pint size as she’d always been. She filled out her usual worn denims and little white tank _much_ differently than either could ever remember though.

“I think you both got shinier over the summer,” Katie offered softly with a smile as she hugged each twin in turn.

“We’re pretty sure …” Fred began, eyes dancing on her.

“…you did, too …” George added, only letting himself tap her nose though he could still feel her little frame pressed against him from when she’d hugged him.

“…princess.” Fred smirked.

Katie blushed and reached up to tuck a lock of blond hair that had escaped her ponytail while flying, behind her ear.

“What are you two up to now,” Angelina grinned as she came up to them, winking at Katie before turning to the boys. Jostling between them, she threw an arm around each of their shoulders, leaning over to give George a smacking kiss on the cheek and then turning to do the same to Fred.

She lingered just a little longer; words whispered into Fred’s ear before she smiled again and turned her attention to Katie, eyes still dark with whatever she had shared with Fred.

“Happy summer, Bells?”

“Mmhmm. I spent it with my Grandmama …” Katie began, trailing off when she heard her name called out from behind.

Turning, a large smile split her features and she trotted in their direction to say hello.

Two pairs of blue eyes followed the gentle sway of her hips, the bits of golden skin peaking out between the hem of her shirt and the low waist of her pants before their attention was pulled elsewhere.

“And you two? Your summer?” Angelina asked, squeezing her hands on their shoulders, drawing their attention.

“Explosive,” George replied, tickling her side with a grin before following after Katie and heading towards the rest of the team now coming onto the pitch. 

“Hot,” Fred added, a wicked smirk curling his lips as he squeezed Angelina’s hip before he tugged her after his brother.


	8. Sorting Little Sisters (Ellie Weasley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for jo_anne_storm as part of a 2008 drabble meme. Ellie Weasley is my original next gen character. She is the youngest child and only daughter of Fred Weasley and Katie Bell.

Unlike most all the other first years, Ellie Weasley wasn’t scared about the Sorting ceremony the least little bit. With twins Corey and Devon for brothers, it took much more to make a person worried or anxious.

No, Ellie was _very_ excited. She knew something that no one else did.

“ELYNOR WEASLEY!”

As her name echoed through the Great Hall, Ellie headed for the front of the room. Her pink ribbon and blond ponytail of bouncy curls was vivid against the standard black robes, unmarked by a house yet, as she settled onto the little stool with most all the student body’s eyes on her.

Picking her big brother’s ginger hair out easily at the Gryffindor table, Ellie smiled brightly at them and gave a little wave. In unison, they both raised a hand and wiggled their fingers at her, a mimic of her own movements, the most devious of expressions on their faces. They couldn’t _wait_ to have their little Ellie-phant so near to practice their pranks on again.

Ellie just smiled happily at them, her bright blue eyes sparkling with humor at a joke only she knew.

“Are you ready then, dear?” Minerva McGonnagall asked.

“Oh yes, thank you,” Ellie replied, voice light and tinkling like a happy flow of water.

Before the Sorting Hat even touched a blond hair on her head, it yelled, “SLYTHERIN!”

The silence in the Great Hall was deafening.

While the whole of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff looked on in wide eye shock, Ellie slipped from the stool and headed towards a table full of Slytherins who showed nothing at all but the silent projection of their cumulative distaste.

Meeting Corey and Devon’s gazes across the room, Ellie smiled beatifically and wiggled her fingers at them, just as they had done to her. They continued to look slightly shocked and just a little put out at this turn of events.

As she came to the Slytherin table, Ellie’s eyes flicked quickly over the whole of the long table before slipping onto the bench next to another first year – a dark-haired boy with smirking bright eyes that she remembered had been called up as ‘Felix Harper.’

Sliding close, she lightly grasped his hand beneath the table and met his eyes with her own amusedly happy bright blue ones, blond hair sliding over her shoulder as she smiled warmly at him.

“I’m Ellie Weasley. Do you want to be friends?”

Thoroughly entertained by the whole of the last ten minutes, Felix’s dark brown eyes sparkled as he met Ellie’s gaze. “’Course,” he replied, returning the pressure of her little hand around his and linking their fingers.

“Good,” Ellie grinned, scooting even closer and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “There’s a secret passage that can get us near the Gryffindor tower by the …”


	9. Ten Points for Gryffindor (Joscelin Jones, Bishop Rascaile)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for mugglechump!Kate. Joscelin and Bishop have been best friends since they met as firsties in Gryffindor.

“Bloody hell, Rascaile. _Shut up_ ,” Joscelin whispered as they snuck through the dark, cavernous halls of Hogwarts in the wee hours of the morning.  
  
Bishop wrapped an arm around his friend’s neck though, hanging on, choking and hugging at the same time. “I should be singing to the suits of armor, peaches,” Bishop all but sang, the firewhiskey as much a part of him as his blood, at this point, not caring much for volume levels – or the fact that they were, in fact, trying to sneak back to their dorm from an impromptu visit to Hogsmeade.  
  
“Rosemerta bloody snogged me in front of the whole pub!” he exclaimed, giving Joscelin a smacking kiss to the cheek for emphasis.  
  
“Just like she has every other troll that gives her the size tip you did,” Joscelin grinned, throwing his friend off of him before tackling him further down the hall.  
  
“You calling me a troll?” Bishop slurred, eyes bright even in the darkness as he took a swiping punch at Joscelin.  
  
“Yeah,” Joscelin replied, grin going crooked. “What ‘cha gonna do about it, sweetheart?”  
  
“Gonna fucking pulp you with my …” His fumbling search didn’t produce a wand, and Bishop just shrugged and grinned before tackling Joscelin to the floor, both boys rolling into view of the Fat Lady’s portrait.  
  
A few grunts and barks of laughter, only to be cut off by more grunts as the boys fought filled the halls. The Fat Lady’s indignant cries were added to the raucous, but before long she was calling out, “Good one! Left, left!”  
  
“ _JOSCELIN JONES! BISHOP RASCAILE!_ ” came the shriek that stilled both boys in mid punch. “You will stop fighting _this instant_!”  
  
There was a moment of wide-eyed shock as the two fifth years realized they’d been caught, and then the devil-may-care matching shrugs and grins as they turned to Professor McGonnagal as a single unit.  
  
“Cauldrons?” Joscelin queried.  
  
“Or maybe the Owlry?” Bishop echoed.  
  
“There’s always shining up the trophy room…” Joscelin continued, eyes twinkling merrily, just a little too bright with the drink he’d had that night.  
  
McGonnagal pulled her plaid dressing robe around her and straightened herself to her full height. “All of it. Starting tomorrow, for the next week in full.” Her gaze was hard as she added, “and ten points from each of you for being out after curfew and ten points for fighting.” She narrowed her eyes. “And if you two aren’t on the other side of that portrait before I’ve enough time to place the smell reeking from both of you, it’ll be another ten points.”  
  
The boys had made good on her statement though, and had tumbled into the Gryffindor common room long before the rest of their professor’s statement could be heard.  
  
Once the portrait had closed behind them, Joscelin grinned a bit madly at Bishop before producing a flask. “Ten points for Gyrffindor.”


	10. Quiet Little Place (Jonathan Savage/Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for goddessvicky as part of a 2009 drabble meme. Savage is a last-name-only character who is fleshed out as Jonathan Savage, Auror, by goddessvicky at Caliga RPG.
> 
> The song referenced in this piece is "Quiet Little Place" by K's Choice.

Jazz filtered through _The Viceroy_ , but such was always the case. The clientele was in suits, ties pulled loose, scotch and whiskey on the rocks the drinks of choice for most all present. That too was common, however, as was the handful of dancers swaying to the smooth music and the dim lighting that gave an air of intimacy to the lounge.  
  
What was different for two people present that particular evening was that they’d not arrived alone.   
  
It was true they had seen each other at the lounge many times before, and perhaps it was why they continued to frequent the establishment despite how often they tried to convince themselves that it was because the drinks were good.   
  
On this particular night, however, a hand rested at the base of her spine, and gazes were held as they sipped on their drinks.  
  
“Dance with me?”  
  
And just as before, he held his hand for her and led her to the dance floor. The question was not asked because she was all but pushed towards it though, not this time.   
  
This time she asked because she wanted to, and he led her to the floor because he would have in a few minutes anyways.  
  
Déjà vu.   
  
Bodies brought close, scents breathed in, and his hand splayed across the silk low on her back. _Heat_ , but they breathed it, the low murmurs fading to the background.  
  
He held one hand in his own, pressed it against his chest as he cradled her close to him, shifted his other hand lower still on her back. He’d held her close before, touched her, but this was the first they’d pursued it with intention and it was a heady thing to touch as he was, breath her in, and know that she wanted him to.  
  
She could feel his heat, his body, and it was only the slightest adjustment to turn her head so she could press her lips to the tiny hollow just beneath his ear. Not an act, not by either of them, and her lids fluttered as she exhaled, her body softening completely into him.

****

**_In this quiet little place, I can’t remember having known a different place_ **

  
  
They had done this before; déjà vu. It all came back to him, the last he’d held her here in this place. This time, though, when he let his gaze travel down the line of her jaw, her neck to her collarbone, he bent his head and let his breath touch her skin as he breathed her in. Something subtle, alluring, and _her_.   
  
Not a moment later his lips touched heated skin, and he pulled her closer still when he felt and heard her breathing change.   
  
“Gwen?” was the slightly rough murmur of her name against her skin.  
  
“ _Yes,_ ” was the answer, a low murmur on an exhale ruffling his hair.  
  
He raised his head to see her face, gauge he had heard what he thought he had. Gwen’s hand not caught in his own followed the movement and she traced her fingers up the back of his neck until they were sliding through his hair.   
  
Her eyes were just as dark as his, and he knew.   
  
“Yes, Jonathan,” she repeated, his name rolling from her mouth low and warm.   
  
[Gwen Jones](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v661/elle_blessing/Gwen/kate_beckinsale.jpg) was a woman who he’d never thought to find himself with. Pure, noble, cultured, _beautiful_ , and everything he’d left behind and thought never to come back to. And yet she was so much more than his assumptions of gilded and mirrored doors, and her permission stirred him.   
  
As [Jonathan](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v661/elle_blessing/Gwen/3.jpg) slid his hand across her skin, cupped her face surely as their bodies moved with the dance neither had to think about, Gwen had a fleeting thought that this could hurt someday. Jonathan Savage pushed her, moved her; to heat, to anger and irritation, but to passion and so much more.   
  
It was the more that was frightening, but as his breath mixed with hers, it was a very faraway thought. “ _Yes,_ ” she breathed again.

****

**_In this quiet little place, I can surrender to the beauty of its face_ **

  
  
A crowded room, dancers moving around them, and yet there was nothing but her.   
  
She was not a woman that would allow this just anywhere, but she had, thrice over, with _him_. She trusted him. Why, he could not fathom, but it didn’t matter just then, not as he watched her lids flutter, felt the heat of her skin beneath his hand, and his dark gaze fell to her mouth.  
  
 _Yes._   
  
Jonathan pressed his lips to hers, soft, pliant, and the hand on her back splayed as he _felt_ the tiny sigh that passed from her lips. He slanted his mouth over hers and was rewarded as she opened to him, pressed against him, explored him as he was her.

 

**_In this quiet little place, you run your fingers through my hair and whisper, ‘hey’_ **


	11. Thirty-Five (Jonathan Savage/Gwenog Jones, Euan Abercrombie)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for pyrobear as part of a 2009 drabble meme. Euan is written by pyrobear at Caliga RPG.

Another damn birthday party.  
  
Not that she disliked that her brother went through so much trouble to make them happen. Gwen knew that Joscelin did it because he loved her, but it wasn’t as if she needed the reminder that she was turning thirty-five.  
  
She rather suspected he just wanted a reason to fill Tretower and the grounds with people. For all that he was a Jones, there was a very stubborn, people-loving ostentatious streak in her brother that had absolutely nothing to do with their family and everything to do with him.   
  
He was such a damn Gryffindor.  
  
But she loved him, and as she saw him pick up his wife and spin her around the dance floor that had been erected on the lawn as the fiddlers whirred a beat the dancers could barely keep up with, a smile touched her lips. Joscelin wasn’t all bad, she supposed, and she was rather fond of his wife.  
  
Romilda made him happy. She liked seeing her brother smile like he had been for the past several years since they’d eloped.   
  
Pulling her gaze away from the merriment on the lawns, Gwen glanced back into the full ballroom. Dark eyes scanned for a familiar line of shoulders, a dark head of hair and a smirk that she couldn’t decide if she loved or hated, but Gwen did not see her lover.  
  
Turning, she began to descend the stairs to the lawn and was nearly run over by someone coming up.   
  
“I’m so sor-” Euan stopped, words tripping over themselves as he looked up to find Gwenog Jones. He’d seen her from across the lawns awhile ago and had been properly awed from afar, but up close – despite himself - his eyes followed the lines of silk that made up her dress. It was draped over her shoulders and the neckline dipped shockingly low, nearly to her navel, and the soft fabric hung off her hips like it was painted there.  
  
It didn’t help that it was blood red.   
  
Realizing what he’d been doing, Euan’s eyes snapped up to her face and he could feel himself flush even as he tried again. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Jones. I wasna looking where I was going, and I think Rose is in the ballroom and I was just going to collect her because she wanted to dance when the fiddlers started up again, and …”  
  
“It’s quite alright, Euan,” Gwen interjected, a tiny smile curling her lips. “I remain unharmed yet,” she pointed out. “Unless you’ve more devious plans that I should be aware of?”  
  
“No!” Euan rushed to answer, eyes a little wide. “I mean, no, I dinna have any devious plans.” Shifting on his feet, he ran a hand through hair that was already somewhat mussed. “Happy birthday?” he offered.  
  
He swallowed. His grandpa had talked about her flying prowess for years and had tried to recruit her to be the Seeker for the Magpies from the Harpies, but Euan was pretty sure he’d never mentioned anything about how she looked in evening wear.   
  
Realizing he was _looking_ again, Euan’s eyes snapped up to her face.   
  
Auror Savage was going to kill him.  
  
“Yes, happy birthday,” he offered again more firmly before shifting awkwardly from side to side and then bounding up the stairs and disappearing into the ballroom.   
  
“What’s wrong with Abercrombie?” a voice murmured against her ear even as a warm hand traced down the bare skin of her back to rest at the curve of her arse where the silk began.  
  
“Just wishing me well on my birthday,” she replied, voice low as she turned toward Jonathan Savage with a smile curling her lips. Euan reminded her a bit of a slightly shaggy puppy.  
  
“Maybe I want to wish you well on your birthday,” he said, lips brushing hers even as he let his hands curve over her arse. “Thoroughly,” he added with a smirk.  
  
Once upon a time this wouldn’t have been allowed, such a public display of affection, but Gwen found she didn’t much care anymore. Plus, it was her birthday.  
  
She could do whatever she damn well pleased.  
  
“I think mayhap you should,” she murmured, smile curving her lips.


	12. No Strings Attached (Reese Ashley, Kiss Ashley, Jenks)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for amazonmink at a 2009 drabble meme. Reese Ashley is my original character, and Kiss Ashley is her daughter. Jenks is from _The Hollows_ series by Kim Harrison.

“Look Mummy,” a tiny voice said, even tinier hands holding up a collection of blooms. “Colors.”  
  
“Very pretty colors,” Reese agreed. Sitting as she was in the grass, little toddler Kiss was about eye level with her. Only half her attention was on her baby girl though, but not for want of it to be anywhere but on the wispy blond head.   
  
The problem – if it could be called that yet – was that there was a glowing ball of almost white-gold darting around the flowers. Its colors were as bright as hers and Kiss’, and it moved as if it had some kind of purpose. It was really quick, too, and if not for the after image of light, Reese wasn’t sure she’d even be able to keep up.   
  
But she _did_ know that it was more than a butterfly or a bee, and more than a flower or anything else that had color but wasn’t as bright as people were. This white-gold, glowing colorful thing was _definitely_ as bright as anyone she knew, maybe brighter.   
  
Pulling green eyes away from the flowerbed when it disappeared again, Reese smiled at Kiss and reached out to cup her hands around the delicate blooms Kiss was holding for her to see. “They’re very pretty too,” she added, meeting the bright blue eyes that were watching her. “Do you think they smell nice?”  
  
“Smell nice, smell nice,” Kiss sing-songed even as she buried her nose in the flowers. A smile lit her tiny elfin features as she looked back to her Mummy. “Smell nice! You too, you too!”  
  
“Me too, me too,” Reese echoed, green eyes bright on her baby. Her hands were still cupped around the flowers and tiny hands holding them, and Reese smiled and bent to put her nose to the blooms.   
  
Just then the white-gold slid across her vision, the closest it had been yet, and rested on the leaf of a tulip and was still. It wasn’t more than a arms-length away, was nearly eye level with both of them, and Reese’s watched it, eyes a little wide that it was finally still.  
  
“I can see you,” she said, head tilting.   
  
Jenks swore. Damn Glamour didn’t damn work, and he’d been damn seen. Pulling his pin prick of a sword, he revealed himself and flew at the woman. “You should just keep your nose where it belongs,” he said, the tip of his tiny pixie sword pointed at Reese’s nose.  
  
Kiss’ eyes widened when the tiny little man in green appeared, and she attempted to pull her hands away from her Mummy’s when it came at Reese. “Don’t hurt Mummy!”  
  
“Mummy’s okay,” Reese assured her little one, even as she shifted to gather the tiny girl into her lap. Her green gaze wasn’t scared, but more curious as she looked at the tiny little man with his tiny little sword. “My nose _is_ where it belongs,” she finally replied.  
  
Jenks frowned, not really able to argue with the logic. They didn’t smell so bad, either, he decided. Something a little different from human, and they weren’t screaming or trying to bat at him.   
  
So he sheathed his sword. Everyone seemed properly intimidated.  
  
“I’m Reese, and this is Kiss Kiss,” Reese offered, head tilting the other way, Kiss following her movement almost exactly as she watched the buzzing pixie, fascinated.  
  
“Kiss Kiss,” she echoed, blue eyes wide.  
  
“Jenks,” Jenks offered as he put his hands to his hips in a very good intimation of Peter Pan. “Is this your garden?”  
  
“Mmhmm,” Reese hummed.  
  
Kiss held up her flowers. “Do you want some?”  
  
Jenks narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Is there strings attached to that offer?”  
  
Both Reese and Kiss looked at the flowers, but it was green eyes that tracked to Jenks again, perplexed. “There’s no strings on them that I can see.”  
  
Jenks frowned, not sure that they weren’t making fun of him, but when the little one that looked a like a gigantic version of his little Jalina looked up at him, clearly perplexed, he laughed instead. “No strings then.”


	13. I'll Be Your Family (Joscelin Jones, Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for jo_anne_storm as part of a 2009 drabble meme. Gwenog Jones is a canon character, and Joscelin Jones is her older brother (and my original character).

“Mum?”  
  
“Mother, Joscelin. Call me ‘Mother’,” Francis Jones corrected.  
  
“Mother,” Joscelin fixed even as Francis spoke. Hazel eyes were a little wide as he looked at his mother’s stomach. “Where is she?”  
  
“In the nursery, dear.” Her voice was just as cool and calm as it ever was, her person perfectly put together. There was no sign that she had given birth just the day prior except, perhaps, that she was reclining on a chaise instead of penning letters at her desk. Even now, though, Francis Jones was perusing the correspondence she had missed the past several days while she dealt with the unfortunate accident that had befallen Daniel and her.  
  
A frown knit Joscelin’s brow as he tilted his head and looked at his mother curiously. She was all he’d ever known, but deep down somewhere, it didn’t _feel_ right that she was so indifferent about the person that had been inside of her for so long. His _sister_.   
  
He’d been anticipating her coming for a long, long time, and he’d not even gotten to meet her yet.  
  
No one had told him anything except that his mother was in labor. He hadn’t known, exactly, what that meant, but he figured that his sister would come soon. But he’d gone to bed and had lessons of all sorts all through day that were suitable for a seven year old pureblood heir. He had had to wait to search for one of his parents and find out whether he was able to meet his sister yet. As he stood before his mother who didn’t even raise her eyes from the letters in her hands though, Joscelin continued to frown.  
  
“How come she’s not with you?”  
  
Francis looked up at her young son, then. Dark brown eyes fixed on him and she didn’t speak for a long time.   
  
It was unfortunate that she and Daniel had gotten pregnant again. They’d not wanted anymore children, not after they’d secured a male heir, and they had most definitely not wanted a daughter. If it wasn’t for the fact that the blood the babe carried was that of a Jones, purest of the families, Francis would have considered alternate methods of dealing with the unwanted pregnancy, the unwanted child.   
  
As it was, Joscelin had taken entirely too much interest in the pregnancy than either she or Daniel had liked. The babe would be cared for, of course – it was only fitting for a child of the blood – but she was of no consequence to the propagation of the line. She should be of no real consequence to anyone in their family, least of all their only son.  
  
But Joscelin was willful. Her husband had taken the appropriate measures to keep him at hand, but as Francis really looked at her son, she saw more than ought to be there for a child.   
  
“She belongs in the nursery, Joscelin. The elves will care for her, and …” Francis’ lips pursed, though it was the only betrayal of her thoughts on what she was about to say; her and her mother did _not_ get along. “… Your Grandmother will come to assist them. You may visit her, but should your studies be interrupted, or should you disobey your father or me, such privileges will be taken away.”  
  
A part of Joscelin bristled at his mother’s tone of voice, and his eyes sparked defiantly. “How come you’re not caring for her, Mother?”  
  
Francis’ lips thinned, though her voice was just as cool and calm as it always was. “Do not speak to me in that tone.”  
  
Joscelin’s chin tipped up. “How come you’re not caring for her, Mother? How come I’m only allowed to see her some of the time? Why can’t we all spend time together like a family?”  
  
“You, your father and I do spend time as a family,” Francis said as if that was that end of the conversation, and her voice hardened further as she added, “do not take such a tone with me again, son, or I will have your father discipline you for your disrespect.”   
  
Satisfied when a proper flash of fear darkened the small boy’s eyes, Francis said, “You may go.”  
  
Joscelin nodded stiffly before striding from the room like the little man he was. He knew he had fencing lessons and that his father would reprimand him, likely painfully, should it be reported that he was late, but Joscelin turned towards the wing the nursery was in.  
  
He wanted to see his sister.  
  
Even as he began to run through the sprawling manor, Joscelin realized he didn’t even know her name. His mother didn’t even refer to her with a name.   
  
Coming to a skidding halt in front of the door, Joscelin quietly peeked his head in. There were no people, but there _was_ a house elf tittering around with a bottle.   
  
“Lulu,” Joscelin called quietly as he entered the room and shut the door softly behind him.  
  
The house elf started, throwing the bottle in the air and then almost dropping it as it slipped several times in its hands upon trying to catch it again. “Master, Master, I’s be sorries. I’s will iron Lulu’s hands.”  
  
“No, no, Lulu. You’re fine,” he promised. Hearing ‘Master’ come from the elf made Joscelin’s lips curl into the first of smiles that whole day. It absolutely _infuriated_ his father when the elves called him that. They didn’t call Daniel Jones that, after all.  
  
Joscelin didn’t know what it meant, but he liked that it brassed his father off.  
  
“Is she here?” he asked, eyes scanning about and not seeing a body before his bright, curious hazel gaze rested on the crib. Only when he focused on it did he hear soft cooing noises.  
  
“The Missy be’s in there,” Lulu informed him, pointing to the crib even as she pulled on her ear and backed away.   
  
Padding across the room, Joscelin snatched a stool on his way over to the crib. Setting it next to the white frothed thing, he stepped on the stool and finally was able to see inside.  
  
His eyes widened. He’d never seen a baby in real life before.  
  
She was pretty, he decided. Dark hair like his own shot in all different directions, and her skin was paler than his, but really soft – softer than his, he noted as he dragged a finger down her tiny arm.   
  
It was her eyes that caught his though. Big and dark with long lashes that brushed her round little cheeks every time she blinked. His little sister was entirely focused on him though, and he almost started when her tiny hand grabbed onto the finger he’d been lightly touching her with.   
  
“What’s her name?” he asked the elf, his voice soft with wonder as he leaned further into the crib to see her better.  
  
“Gwenog Lyra Jones, Masters.”  
  
“Gwenog,” Joscelin repeated, tugging lightly against her grip on his finger. She held on tight and a smile curled Joscelin’s lips.  
  
“Lyra,” he tried again, voice a bit softer with the rhythm of the name. A delighted smile bloomed when she blinked at him, long and slow, a little coo slipping from her as if to say that she agreed it was a much better appellation.  
  
He realized in that moment that he was probably the first person she had ever _seen_ , and he leaned further into the crib, feet leaving the stool as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.   
  
“I’ll be your family,” he whispered, a solemn promise of a seven year old big brother.


	14. Tease (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG.
> 
> Warning: sexual themes.

“You like this, don’t you?” he breathed against her neck.  
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
Fred knew the answer to his question, but he loved hearing her voice go soft, almost begging.  
  
He scraped his teeth down her neck again, a growl rumbling from him as a whimper slipped her lips. He’d barely touched her and yet she was panting beneath him, her skin hot. Slow. _Slow_. Teasing. Anticipation in every touch.  
  
“Please, Shiny,” Katie panted, hazy gaze finding his. “ _Please_.”  
  
“Please, what?” Fred murmured, eyes dark as he slipped a hand beneath her shirt to splay across her stomach. “This?”  
  
“Yes …” _Pant, pant_. “…yes.”  
  
“And maybe this?” he said as he settled atop her, his leg slipping between hers, a weight of promise not yet delivered. “And this, Kit?” Fred breathed as he bent his head to nip at the column of her throat.  
  
Fingers found purchase in his shirt, tugging as her hips rolled against him despite herself. “ _Yes_.” The little nips were like pin pricks of promise, his tease only for her.  
  
He’d meant to wait, tease her to distraction, but with her neck bared and taught under his lips, her body seeking his as her hips moved, Fred found that he wanted to make her shudder _now_ , cry out and see the first of so many stars he would give to her.  
  
As lips found the juncture of neck and shoulder, Fred’s hand covered her breast, thumb brushing her nipple through the lace. Katie’s small gasp made his eyes darken, and before he could think further, he bit down. Not hard, but a sting of pain, a mark that would fade even before he marked her in earnest later.  
  
A soft cry of his name, the heated stillness to her body as she rode the dual sensation of pleasure and pain, and the grasp of her fingers made a growl rumble in his chest as he wrapped an arm beneath her, bringing her closer.  
  
 _Mine_. It was a litany in his head as he nuzzled his nose to the skin bearing the lightest imprint of his teeth. _Mine, mine, mine…_  
  
Color high in her cheeks and hazel eyes swirling, Katie panted as she sifted fingers through long ginger locks. They had three children, had been married seven years, and yet he still made butterflies flutter, still made her blush and want all the time.  
  
“I love you,” she whispered, heart beating a staccato, pulse racing.  
  
Desire was a thick, molten thing in him and he could feel it in his wife, but her words were disarming and Fred raised his head to see her eyes. Katie was ever an open book, and the words she’d whispered were plain on her face. _His. Always._  
  
Bending, he captured her lips because he couldn’t do anything else. Touching, always touching her. “I love you too,” was the rough murmur before he drank the little sigh that escaped, claimed the lips that were only ever offered to him. _I love you._


	15. House Loyalty (Joscelin Jones, Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for 13oct as part of a 2009 drabble meme. Gwenog Jones is a canon character and Joscelin Jones is her older brother (and my original character).

“What House do you think you’ll get put in, Gwenny?”  
  
Eighteen and freshly graduated, Joscelin was almost sure of the answer to that question, but lazing out on the lawns as they were, he felt prompted to ask anyways. Just to hear her talk. It was true that they’d grown up in the same home, but his little sister, despite the fact that she was only eleven years old, had inflections in her voice that he only ever heard when speaking to Grandmere, or when listening to any of the other _old_ members of the elite households.  
  
He’d no desire to have anything to do with them. The more owls that Father and Mother sent about this Ministry job, or that apprenticeship, or perhaps just the life of a leisure gentleman of politics, the less Joscelin wanted to even touch that which he’d been brought up to be, and the more he wanted to just get _away_.  
  
But it didn’t stop him from enjoying the sounds from his sister. There was something entirely charming in hearing old world tonalities in an eleven year old, after all.   
  
Gwen glanced over at her brother, tiny elfin features looking at him both exasperatingly and suspiciously. “Slytherin, of course. No other House is acceptable.” She narrowed her eyes, and a blink had dark lashes brushing her cheeks before her dark gaze was intent on him again. “Why?”  
  
Joscelin grinned. Lazed as he was on the lawn, hands behind his head and eyes closed, he didn’t need to _see_ Gwen to know the look she was giving him. No other eleven year old had ever looked so innocent, suspicious and canny at the same time.  
  
“Just wondering what you thought.” His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled when he opened them and found her gaze. “Not that you’ll get the House of your choice, though. It’s quite the ordeal, really, and you never know what will happen. For all you know, you could come out bloodied and bruised and end up in Hufflepuff.”  
  
Gwen’s nose wrinkled and she stuck her tongue out at him. “How you _could_ you? _Hufflepuff?_ ” she asked, affronted.  
  
Joscelin laughed and reached up to tug on a lock of her hair.   
  
“Besides,” Gwen continued, composing her expression into mild irritation only, “I know all about the Sorting Hat. There won’t be any blood or bruises.” She sniffed. “I’ve already read ‘Hogwarts: A History’,” she informed him airily as she flicked off a bit of outside debris from Joscelin’s shirt. “It’s quite un-brotherly of you to try and scare me about it intentionally.”  
  
“But if I know that you already know what’s what, then it’s not really that malicious, is it?” Joscelin reasoned, twiddling his fingers with hers and delighted when a smile touched her lips and she played with him back despite that she’d not met his gaze yet.  
  
“I suppose not,” Gwen conceded. “But most definitely _not_ chivalrous and noble,” she countered, bright brown eyes finally sliding to his, triumphant. “Some _Gryffindor_ you turned out to be.”  
  
Laughing loudly, Joscelin grabbed her hand and pulled her tiny form from her perch beside him, brown hair flying as she squeaked indignantly. “Touché.”


	16. Silk (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG.
> 
> Warning: sexual themes.

He wasn’t the kind of man that needed scraps of fabric and teasing hints of skin to entice him. Fred wasn’t averse to lingerie, not at all, but he wanted a woman bare more than anything else.  
  
He was a man of teases, it was true, but in this game _he_ liked to do the teasing, not _be_ teased.  
  
As he watched Katie move about the kitchen, reach to put the cups away on the second shelf, little silk camisole shifting with her movement and exposing a long line of golden, taut stomach, Fred had the thought that he _definitely_ didn’t mind silk. Silk on Katie.  
  
Or perhaps it was just Katie.  
  
One hand steadying her at the hip, Fred took the cup from her and set it on the shelf. “Dinner was good, Kit,” he murmured as he bent over her, both hands sliding over the silk covering her tummy.  
  
“Yeah?” she breathed, a tiny shudder shaking her frame as Fred touched her. It had always been like this. His words had made her blush for as long as she could remember, but it was just the precursor to the touches he would someday give her, that he gave her now. All she could ever see, feel, was _him_.  
  
“Yeah,” he said lowly against her neck as he bent his head. A deep breath brought her scent – flowers and sea breeze – and Fred pressed his lips to her skin as his hands covered her breasts. He could feel her nipples harden against his palms through the silk, her body shudder and arch into his touch, and the smile that curled Fred’s lips against her neck was just a bit predatory. “I think I want to taste you anyways. I need dessert.”  
  
“Am I sweet?” Katie breathed, a fine tremor rippling through her in anticipation. He was going to _taste_ her, and she tipped her head further, encouraging whatever he would have of her.  
  
“Always,” Fred said, the soft question pausing his basal urges to _have_. “Always sweet, Kit,” he assured again before he pressed his lips gently to her neck again, hands kneading the soft weight of her breasts.  
  
The tiny, almost inaudible moan that slipped her lips had Fred kneading again, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. Instant focus. “More?”  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” was her breath, the tremble in her body stronger now as she tipped her head back against his shoulder. Her eyes were drugged, the hazel dark and swirling as she looked up at him. “Taste?”  
  
She was _asking_ for this, and it made Fred’s eyes go dark, the blue nearly sapphire. He _loved_ that she wanted his mark on her, and before he could much think about it, his own breath was a heated, “ _yes_ ”, a hot gust of air against her skin before his teeth sank into the juncture of neck and shoulder.  
  
The cry, the tautness fusing her body, pleasure and pain both, had a growl rumbling from Fred.  
  
It was just Katie. _His_ Katie.


	17. Fever (Viktor Krum/Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Viktor was written by jo_anne_storm at Caliga RPG. Lyrics quoted are from "Fever" by Michael Bublé.
> 
> Warnings: sexual themes.

She wasn’t sure how they’d come to be here, but as he moved in her again - _Oh, gods_ \- her back scraping against the wall, Gwen couldn’t find it in herself to care.  
  
Viktor was young, much younger than the men she usually sought. Sebastian was thirty years her senior at half past fifty, and Theodore was well over twenty years older. Even Bishop was seven years older; though he could have easily been seven younger for all the maturity it brought him.  
  
Gwen _liked_ older men. They were mature, refined, respected, _well_ versed in pleasing a woman.  
  
But what Viktor Krum may have lacked in years, he made up for with strength, _focus_.  
  
It was always a challenge playing him on the international circuit; he was easily twice her size and he was known for his speed and daring as a Seeker. They were 2 for 1 now, with him ahead in captures of the Snitch, and it irritated her, but when he had her pinned against a wall, his mouth bruising hers, his hands leaving their marks at her hips as he thrust again, _hard_ , the pitch was very far from her mind.  
  
No, she was admiring his single-mindedness, his focus on the task at hand. There was _definitely_ something to be said for a man who knew _how_ to focus, and then go after what he wanted.  
  
“I make you fall,” he said, growling as her nails raked down his back. “No more tease.”  
  
“If you can,” Gwen breathed, lids heavy as her breath came quickly. A challenge.  
  
Viktor’s dark eyes were a storm as he met Gwen’s, and they swirled darker still at what he saw there. No other woman was like her; a firestorm.  
  
Fingers bruising into her hips, he took a step back from the wall and her body arched with the movement, shoulders still braced there, but hips joined with his, and he pulled her down on him again.  
  
One hand braced against the stone, a low moan slipped her lips as he sank in her, but evenso, her fingers tangled in his hair roughly and her heels dug at the base of his spine as she raised herself against his grip, and then sank down again, _so slow_ , clenching around him until he, too, was groaning.  
  
“ _I_ can,” she murmured, hand in his hair pulling his head back forcefully as she tightened her legs around him and brought his body flush with hers again. Scraping her teeth down the muscled column of his neck, she asked, “Can you, Viktor?”  
  
A growl rumbled from him at her teeth, the rough handling. Only Gwen. Hips shifting, hard, he moved in her, pleased at the sounds coming from her. The sounds _he_ pulled from her.  
  
There was teeth then, a bite, nails, _pleasure_ and Viktor was shuddering his release in the heated flutter of hers.  
  
 _She was born to give you fever … fever, ‘til you sizzle … what a lovely to burn …_


	18. Teeth (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG.
> 
> Warning: sexual themes, biting.

She was maddening. He would never get anything done at this rate.  
  
Blue eyes followed her as she bent again, snatched two Skiving Snackboxes and then reached up on her tip-toes to slide them on the highest shelf she could reach. His focus narrowed to the golden skin revealed as her tee slid up with the movement and inevitably was drawn to the bruise peeking just over the top of her denims at the small of her back.  
  
Teeth marks. _His_ teeth marks. On _her_ body.  
  
“Kit, you don’t have to help,” he said, not for the first time, voice a bit more gravely than he’d intended.  
  
“But I haven’t anything else to do,” she replied, bending to collect more boxes and then reaching again  
  
Maddening. Absolutely maddening. He’d not gotten a damn thing done since she’d shown up. And what was on his mind had absolutely nothing to do with selling Wheezes.  
  
“But I do,” he said, blue eyes dark and swirling as he caught sight of his mark on her again before it disappeared.  
  
It was the tone of his voice that made her still mid-motion, made her pulse pound beneath her skin. Glancing over her shoulder then, what Katie saw in his face made her skin tint pink, her hazel eyes swirl.  
  
“Should I leave, Shiny?” she asked, just the tiniest bit breathless as her hand came down from the shelf, Snackbox forgotten.  
  
“How will that help me do what needs doing?” he asked as he came around the counter and made towards her, trying not to stalk but not quite able to keep it out of his gate. Fred knew it wasn’t fair to play word games with her, not when she was looking at him as she was, dazed, but he’d show her in a moment _exactly_ what he meant.  
  
A tiny frown pulled between her brow at his question, and Katie tried to wrack her mind for an answer, but his presence filled the whole of her vision and finding rational, coherent thought was somewhat difficult.  
  
“What needs doing?” she finally asked, face tipping up to him as he invaded her space.  
  
Fred could see her pulse pounding in her neck, rabbiting beneath the skin – because of _him_ , and he’d not even touched her yet. It was a heady thing, as was the swirl in her eyes, but it was the slightly dazed and confused look on her face that gentled his expression, his hand as he wound it through her tumbling golden locks.  
  
“Just you, Kit,” he murmured against her mouth. “Only you.”


	19. Rockstar (Gwenog Jones, Angelina Johnson)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for mugglechump as part of a 2009 drabble meme. Angelina Johnson is written by fiery_flamingo at both Caliga RPG and Pink Sheep RPG.
> 
> The prompt was “You are what you repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act, but a habit.”

Gwen knew when she had decided to keep Angelina Johnson as a Chaser that it would be a difficult road for both of them. The tall woman was powerful, strong and had a _fantastic_ shot with her left arm. Curved at the last moment.   
  
She was also headstrong, more than occasionally questioned her and had enough attitude to give the whole team a swagger to their step if she was to share it.   
  
It _could_ be a strength if she learned to wield it properly.   
  
When she was looking at Gwen flippantly as she was now, defiance in her dark brown eyes, etched across her mocha colored features, Gwen had to wonder why in the bloody hell she had signed up to do this. She’d prepared the damn contract that bound Angelina to the Harpies for the next two years for Salazar’s sake.   
  
She could feel the eyes of the team on her, waiting. After Angelina’s last flippant remark questioning the way Gwen was running their practice, the other women were holding their breath.   
  
“I will not apologize for the ways I have made the Harpies perennial league champions, Ms. Johnson. It is perhaps easy for all of us to forget how we got here, that it is one another and it is hard work that has put us where we are, defending our title yet again.” Gwen’s face was intent, her eyes dark and focused on Angelina. Despite the height disparity between the two women with Angelina standing nearly a hand span above her captain, no one would have noticed it. “You are what you repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act, but a habit.”  
  
Gwen shot the Quaffle at Angelina and the tall black woman caught it easily. “You will run the Chasers through the drills. Again. And again after that. And when you think it’s as perfect as it can get, do it again. Do it until you see it in the back of your mind, in your dreams. Do it until you breathe it. And then do it one last time because your teammates need to feel the same way you do.”  
  
Angelina held Gwen’s gaze a long time, defiance and acceptance warring, but she flashed a grin in the end. “Sure thing, oh captain, my captain.” Angelina glanced at the team assembled around and said, “In the air, wenches!” She was on her broom and shooting towards the hoops before the others even had a chance to attempt and follow.   
  
Gwen nodded at the Beaters to continue with their drills and when they had shot into the sky, her eyes found Angelina again. She was a fired streak in the sky and the others followed her lead. Dynamic, raw power and charisma.   
  
She would be a worthy captain someday despite her self-proclaimed lack of leadership ability. Even if Gwen had to beat it into her every damn step of the way. Her lips twitched.


	20. ”If I Ever Leave This World Alive” by Flogging Molly (Joscelin Jones/Romilda Vane)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the December 2009 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> Romilda (aka, Romy) is written by mugglechump at Caliga RPG. The song quoted is ”If I Ever Leave This World Alive” by Flogging Molly.

_If I ever leave this world alive_  
 _I'll thank for all the things you did in my life_  
 _If I ever leave this world alive_  
 _I'll come back down and sit beside your feet tonight_  
 _Wherever I am you'll always be_  
 _More than just a memory_  
 _If I ever leave this world alive_  
  
Joscelin's hazel-green eyes twinkled and Romy laughed and shook her head at her husband. "No, absolutely not."  
  
"Come on, love. We've got to give our little lad a dancing bone."   
  
She couldn't help it. The laughter bubbled through her and she could feel her son, _their_ son, tumbling inside of her to the fiddle filling the pub, kicking at his Papa's palm pressed to her swollen belly.  
  
She took his hand and they danced.


	21. ”Oxygen” by Colbie Calliat (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the December 2009 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG. The song quoted is ”Oxygen” by Colbie Calliat.

Katie's hazel gaze followed him. He was sunshine. One half of her shiny gingers, and she just couldn't _not_ watch him.   
  
His smile was just a little too wicked, and when he looked at her she couldn't help but blush even though they'd been friends forever and a day.   
  
It felt right, and wrong, and so many things she couldn't understand, but that she needed his oxygen, or something like it, something to breath that was all Fred.   
  
_I came apart inside a world full of angry people, I found a boy who had a dream of making everyone smile. Oh baby, I would be your lady, I would make you happy ..._


	22. "Into the Fire" by Thirteen Senses (Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the December 2009 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> The song quoted is "Into the Fire" by Thirteen Senses.

_And now I’m alone I’m looking out_  
 _I’m looking in, way down_  
 _Come on, Come on,_  
 _Put your hands into the fire_  
  
It was raining. It was no different than any other day in Devon, or at Hogwarts where she'd been brought from. The clouds were heavy and dark, the air thick and damp.  
  
Gwen didn't notice. The only thing she could see was the casket. Everything else was blurry. Her brother's voice, and then Bishop's ... they were distant.  
  
There was a lone, white lily resting atop the shiny black surface. Perfect. Serene.  
  
Nothing about this day was good, perfect, or serene. Theresa was gone and they were all broken.  
  
Moisture blurred her vision and she glanced away, flowers falling from her hands as she turned, ran.


	23. "Touch" by Johnny Lang (Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the December 2009 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> The song quoted is "Touch" by Johnny Lang.

_Cause I come alive with your touch_  
 _Your touch it always sets me free_  
 _I can't get quite enough_  
  
It was only a dance and yet Gwen's lids were heavy, her heart pounded a slow, steady rhythm with the base and she could feel the warmth of something more than sliding bodies, seeking hands, and unquenchable passion sluicing beneath her skin, warming her blood.  
  
Love.  
  
She shifted, ever so slightly, and her lips brushed his ear. She needed him, his touch, _always_.


	24. "Say" by John Mayer (Gwenog Jones, Tristan Bole)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the December 2009 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> Bole is a last-name-only canon character fleshed out by silverstardance at Caliga RPG. The song quoted is "Say" by John Mayer.

_Walking like a one man army_  
Fighting with the shadows in your head  
Living out the same old moment  
  
She sat with him. Always came every other week without fail. It’d been every week at first, days in a row to begin.  
  
Now … now, they sat in silence at the appointed time, twice monthly, sometimes three visits. An attendant was no longer needed; Tristan wasn’t as violent as he’d been when she had brought him to _Waverly’s_ all those months ago now.  
  
She watched him and he watched her. No words.  
  
This was the man she’d thought to marry, thought to spend her life with, had fallen in love with. Now he was quiet, gone.  
  
What was in his mind now, she didn’t know, but when he looked at her there was nothing of the man who had told her he loved her, who had held her and touched her.  
  
She leaned forward and set her hand on his. It was just skin against skin. Warmth.  
  
The heat was gone.


	25. "Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the December 2009 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG. The song quoted is "Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional.

_You are the best one, of the best ones_  
 _You have stolen my_  
 _You have stolen my heart_  
  
After George, Fred … he just hadn’t ever imagined there could be anything that could make the world shine again. With his twin, part of his soul had gone, half of him had died and where there should have been a whole person, Fred was only ever half a man.  
  
She’d always been there, little Katie Bell. His Kit. Pink tinted her skin every time he spoke to her and always had. Somehow it was different now, different now that he noticed how warm her skin was, how soft. Different since he’d felt her hair between his fingers.  
  
So very different since she’d arched beneath him, shuddered and shivered, called his name and held him close.  
  
She looked at him like there was no one else she could see and Fred knew she was too good for him, too sweet. She was sunshine, the summer breeze, all the warm and wonderful things he’d lost. After everything he’d done, everywhere he’d been, he didn’t deserve her, this.  
  
He didn’t deserve Sunday mornings lying in bed with her, didn’t deserve to see her wake when the sun touched her.  
  
Katie had always insisted he didn’t know what he was talking about though. And blushed as she said it.


	26. "Under The Waves" by Peter Droge (Harry Potter, Mira Montgomery)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the December 2009 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> Harry is written by goddessvicky at Caliga RPG. The Montgomery sisters are last-name-only canon characters. I've fleshed out one of the two as Mira Montgomery at Caliga RPG (and mugglechump writes her twin, Cassie Montgomery). The song quoted is "Under The Waves" by Peter Droge.

_Under the waves_  
 _Deep in the drift_  
 _I can feel the salt upon my skin_  
 _Under the waves_  
 _Falling away …_  
 _I want to feel it_  
 _Just to know it’s true_  
 _Look me over_  
 _Can’t change the color blue …_  
  
Harry stood in the middle of the MLE. Still, not moving.  
  
Everyone around him moved in fast forward. Somewhere to go, something to do, some higher purpose driving them. People to save and justice to be served.  
  
Not him. Head of the MLE, his office walls were all he saw, and as he stood in the melee, he felt lost, drowning, watching as if water separated them, blurred life, just out of reach.  
  
She was clear though, vivid and colorful. When those blue eyes turned up to him, time adjusted, the blur of water was gone and he breathed. “Mira?”  
  
“I was just asking if you were alright?”  
  
His lips curled slightly, though why he felt lighter, like there might be a smile in him, he didn’t know. “Fine now, thanks.”


	27. "Better" by Plumb (Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the December 2009 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> The song quoted is "Better" by Plumb.

_I don’t want to care  
And I don’t want to hate  
And I don’t want to see you fall too far away…  
… You’re so afraid, you try to break me, yeah_  
  
“Gwenog, do sit up straighter. You’ve the look of a heathen.”  
  
Gwen shifted in her seat, tried to sit straighter. She hadn’t a clue what to adjust. Grandmere had made sure every nuance of her behavior, her mannerisms, was perfectly presentable to society.   
  
Mother always found something lacking though.  
  
Gwen’s gaze traveled hungrily over the features so much like her own, features she rarely ever saw. It was a treat to take tea with her Mother, a benevolence. “I made the Quidditch team, Mother. The first female in over a century, and starting Seeker.” It was an honor, a privilege, something that her parents might be proud of. Perhaps they would come watch her play? All the other parent’s came, proud to have their children on Slytherin’s team. It was quite prestigious, _especially_ for a second year.  
  
“You shouldn’t play sport, Gwenog. No man wants a woman who is better than him at his game.” Francis sniffed and sipped her tea, tone and expression already bored.   
  
Heat bloomed beneath her skin and the candles flared. Gwen dropped her gaze to her teacup, intent on hiding the anger her mother had provoked in her. It would never do to show that she cared. “Yes, Mother.”


	28. One In A Thousand (Miles Bletchley/Reese Ashley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd had a thousand intimate moments - comfort, peace, easy warmth. This is that one moment in a thousand that might make it something else, something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miles Bletchley is written by mugglechump at Caliga RPG.

They'd been like this a thousand times.  
  
A thousand times Reese had curled into his frame for a hug, for a snuggle, for a nap.  
  
A thousand times she'd studied him. Miles was used to her green gaze watching him, whether it was his features she saw or something in that colorful world she often rendered in paint on canvas.  
  
A thousand times she'd traced his skin, fingers following colors and lines only she could see, across his face, a thousand times she'd touched him and he, her.  
  
A thousand times she'd whispered something into his ear, pressed her lips to his cheek, his hand.  
  
A thousand intimate moments and yet there'd never been more than comfort, peace, easy warmth.  
  
But then there was a thousand and one.  
  
He could feel her gaze and it felt different, warmer, and when he raised his own from the book he held to the side, Miles was not surprised to find her watching him.  
  
He _was_ surprised when his gaze dropped to her mouth. When she reached to touch his face, it was not so very different than any time before. Except this time she was studying him as if she'd never seen him before.  
  
When her fingers traced as light as a butterfly's wing over his lips, Miles knew that his eyes darkened.  
  
When he raised them back up to hers, the most surprising thing of all was to see the swirling darkness of Reese's own green eyes. He'd seen them bright as the spring grass, vibrant as a tropical pool, but never had he seen this deep, fathomless emerald.  
  
"Miles?" She seemed surprised too. The breathy timbre of her voice was something he'd never heard before either. Moment a thousand and two.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Can I?"  
  
Time seemed to stand still, something that only ever seemed to happen with this fey woman.  
  
He knew what he said yes to, knew it without her having to explain.  
  
A thousand and three.  
  
When she pressed her lips to his, time really did stand still. Yes. This. How had he missed it?  
  
Everything fell into place, made sense. It should have always been this. A thousand moments missed. No, a thousand moments cherished and loved.  
  
She pulled away then, lids fluttering open to look at him. It'd been nothing more than a press of lips and yet his body buzzed, a simmer that moments prior hadn't been there at all.  
  
Her breath was quick as if it'd been more and her fingers feathered down the curve of his jaw. Her eyes - so dark, green, deep, gone already, and yet on him, waiting, asking.  
  
"Miles?" Breathy, warm, hesitant and wanting.  
  
Miles didn't think at all then.  
  
One hand wound in her hair, the other at her waist, pulling her closer. Lips found hers as easy as breathing and when her tiny hands clung at his hair in a way they hadn't a thousand times before, Miles knew there would never be another thousand like the last.  
  
A thousand and four.


	29. Dirty Old Man (Percy Weasley/Rosie Bole)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles at LiveJournal. Percy is written by amazonmink at Caliga RPG. Rosie Bole is my original next gen character. Had Tristan Bole and Gwenog Jones stayed together, Rosie would have been their eldest daughter. Percy would have been an old family friend -- and over twenty-five years older than Rosie in this piece.
> 
> Warnings: cross-gen

It was tradition, these obscenely large, extravagant parties her uncle threw for her mother. Mother liked them as much as she complained about her brother and listed all the hexes she'd used and would revisit on his person.  
  
What most interested Rosie Bole just now, however, was the distinguished gentleman who'd disappeared into the depths of Tretower.   
  
She knew who he was, of course. Percy Weasley was Corey and Devon's uncle, and she'd been nursing a fascination for him for as long as she could remember. He was a loner, however, and she'd yet to figure a legitimate reason why she should visit the Ministry archives.  
  
It wasn't as if a Harpie's Chaser had any reason to be there, though as she stalked through the library, Rosie had a thought she didn't need any other reason than the one heating her skin, darkening her gaze with predatory purpose.  
  
It was true he was thirty years her senior, but it was just another thing that intrigued her about him. Tweed, spectacles and brightly intense blue eyes had aroused her curiosity for a _very_ long time, and as she caught sight of him settled into one of the library's wing back chairs, a book in hand, her lids went heavy as she slinked towards him.  
  
"Uncle."  
  
He recognized the voice, and as Percy set the marker in the pages, he raised his gaze to Rosie. And nearly reached up to adjust his spectacles. He didn't clear his throat, but it was a near thing. "I'm not your uncle, Rosie."  
  
Stopping just before him, her dark eyes burned with the heat that was inherent to her and knowledge of things she'd yet shared. "I know," she murmured.  
  
Slender fingers tugged at her black silk gown, and as she sank down on his lap, she plucked the book from him and set it aside. "I'm rather glad, though considering both our family's pasts, it's not an uncommon thing, no?" she asked as she reached up to run a finger against his skin at the top collar of his shirt.   
  
Percy did swallow then. He was a dirty old man. _He was a dirty old man._ Rosie Bole was thirty years younger than him, _Gwenog's daughter_ , and he felt heat ignite beneath her touch. That she was straddling him, that the silk of her dress had fallen away to reveal a pale expanse of thigh, was not helping.  
  
"Not uncommon, no," he replied, hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly. _He was a dirty old man._  
  
"Still though," she murmured, hands smoothing over his chest as she leaned forward, her décolletage perfectly on display as she ghosted her lips over his jaw until she could speak into his ear. "I do enjoy the irony. If we looked far enough back on the family tree, I'm sure I could legitimize my endearment," she breathed against his skin, breath warm. " _Uncle_."  
  
Percy gripped the arms of the chair even harder. _Dirty old man, dirty old man, dirty old man._


	30. Undisclosed Desires (Jonathan Savage/Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles at LiveJournal. Savage is a last-name-only character fleshed out as Jonathan Savage, Auror, by goddessvicky at Caliga RPG. 
> 
> Warnings: sexual situations, blades

She was hunting him and Jonathan's eyes followed her, his pulse pounding despite himself. He wanted what he could see in her dark gaze, _needed_ it even. There was violence there, calculated with intent. The glitter of the blade in her hand was only tempered with the emotion that was there as well, dark and fathomless, unknowable unless she willed it known.  
  
There was no mistaking her for predator though, and he, her intended prey.  
  
"Please me, and perhaps I shall not bleed you this eve," Gwen murmured, fingers tracing ever so softly down the column of his neck, over his shoulder, his chest.  
  
"Don't be a tease, Gwen." It was rough, rumbled from his lips, and Jonathan reached out with the hand yet unbound and tangled his hand in her hair. Face tipped up to his, her lips parted slightly from the sharp pull and Jonathan had to wonder how he'd come to be with this woman, this woman who consumed him. _You are the one._  
  
"Perhaps it is you who is to show me how such things are done," she said, brow rising as she angled the blade held against his neck.  
  
It wasn't until he felt the bite of the cut did Jonathan realize that though he'd captured her to him, she'd just as swiftly gotten inside his guard. His own dark gaze swirled with the lick of pain, the tiny burn.  
  
Tightening his hand in her hair then, Jonathan brought her to him, lips crashing against hers. He felt the blade cut deeper, swallowed her tiny moan and shuddered at the pain and pleasure of it.  
  
Releasing her just as suddenly as he'd brought her to him, his lips curled into a dark smile. "Show me how it's done, love," he said even as he raised his only free hand above him, grabbing onto the bar that seconds later bound him for her pleasure.


	31. Apologize (Tristan Bole/Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles at LiveJournal. Bole is a last-name-only character fleshed out as Tristan Bole by silverstardance at Caliga RPG.

She was an addiction.  
  
Even now, even when he knew it was wrong, that he didn't deserve her, that he didn't deserve _anything_ , Tristan couldn't help but take what she gave. He knew he shouldn't, knew that he was taking advantage of her pain, the hopeful relief, the tumble of emotions he could feel radiating from her.  
  
But Gwen had always been a drug to him. A taste that couldn't be ignored, had to be indulged once it touched your lips. Touching her, _drinking_ her was so very heady and even as he wound his hand in her hair, pulled her flush against him, Tristan knew he shouldn't.  
  
Not when he'd left her. Not when he'd let her down. Not when he'd failed her in the worst of ways. He hadn't been able to keep a grasp of his own mind.  
  
He wasn't worthy.  
  
But her lips drank of him too, her hands pulled at his hair, the heat of her made it impossible to be anything but drunk on her. Intoxicating desperation for what had been taken from them both.  
  
But her shoulders still shook in his embrace and when he brought his hand up to cup her face, the delicate, dear curve of her cheek, Tristan felt the moisture clinging to her skin, the tears.  
  
It broke him in a way nothing else could and he pulled his lips from hers, kissed along her jaw, wiped at the wetness evidence of his sins.  
  
"I'm _sorry_ ," was a ragged breath against her skin as he gathered her close differently now, held tighter still for the moisture that filled his own eyes. "I shall never atone."


	32. One Fine Wire (Joscelin Jones/Romilda Vane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joscelin says some things he shouldn’t to his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for mugglechump as part of a 2010 drabble meme. Romilda (aka, Romy) is written by mugglechump at Caliga RPG.

"I’ll be starting back at work on Monday, love.” It was said casually over their morning coffee and tea, and Romy very astutely avoided Joscelin’s gaze as she snatched a croissant and tore a piece off.   
  
Joscelin’s brow furrowed slightly as he shifted his gaze away from _The Daily Prophet_. “What was that?”  
  
“Monday. I’m going back to work.” Why irritation was creeping beneath her skin, Romy wasn’t sure. She did know she was irritated that she was irritated, in a backwards sort of way. Rotten hormones were still having their way with her.  
  
“We talked about this, Romy …” The frown between his brow was deeper now, and Joscelin’s full attention was focused on his wife who looked just a little ruffled.   
  
“No, you talked about it and I listened to your point of view.” She tore a little bit savagely at the next bit of croissant. Romy loved her husband dearly and more often than not he was absolutely attentive to her every need, but sometimes he was a bit of an old-fashioned ogre. It was one thing he and his best friend, Bishop, had in common. Most of the time it was somewhat endearing, but just now it was doing nothing for the agitation she was trying to swallow back. “I told you what I preferred, but it seems you’ve forgotten that part of the conversation.”  
  
“Who’s going to take care of Lyra then? We’re not going to have her raised by the elves like Gwenny was,” he said, the first edges of heat tinting his voice.   
  
“Joscelin,” she said calmly, “I told you they have childcare at the Ministry. She’ll only be just down the hall from me.” Despite the level delivery of her words, Romy’s gaze was heated to match the ire creeping into her husband’s voice.   
  
“A child needs its _mother_ , Romy.” The anger simmering just below the surface was not a familiar emotion for Joscelin; such was his sister’s domain. The thought of their daughter in anyone’s care but that of a family member was a detestable thing, however. “You of all people should understand why I would wish such a thing.”  
  
As soon as it left his mouth, Joscelin regretted his words. The crumbling of Romy’s features and the anger shining through the tears in her eyes chased away whatever irrational anger that had crept into him. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean it that-”  
  
“You still said it,” she said, cutting him off. “It’s done.” She swallowed and pushed away from the table. It was a low blow. A _very_ low blow. Her mother had left her, had gotten herself a new family. Her father had eventually left too; suicide for him. Joscelin _knew_ how much that had hurt her. He knew how it had affected the choices she’d made in company before she had met him, all the poor decisions as she searched for affirmation that she was worth something.   
  
“Romy, I’m sor-”  
  
“Not right now, Joscelin.” She shook her head, dark hair kissing her skin and covering the first tear that escaped. Standing, she tugged the tie of her dressing gown tight and turned to go. She paused in the doorway, but didn’t turn around. “I’ll be starting back at work on Monday.”  
  
And then she was gone. Sighing heavily, Joscelin dropped his head into his hands. “You bloody idiot,” he hissed to himself.


	33. More Than Friends (Euan Abercrombie/Mira Montgomery)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles at LiveJournal. Euan is written by pyrobear at Caliga RPG. The Montgomery sisters are last-name-only canon characters. I've fleshed out one of the two as Mira Montgomery at Caliga RPG (and mugglechump writes her twin, Cassie Montgomery).

Even in the meager light afforded by the candle balanced precariously on the bookshelf, Mira could see that Euan was blushing. She's was quite sure he didn't mean to stare at her lips, but he did, and she caught him, and now there was more thrumming through her than the adrenalin of being in the Ministry Archives after hours when they technically shouldn't be.  
  
Now there was something a little warmer buzzing beneath her skin, and she could tell her heart was beating just a little faster. "Is yours going fast too?"  
  
"Huh?" Euan blinked at her, and realizing he was starring, his eyes darted up to hers. He could feel heat suffuse his skin. Again. "Is what going too fast?"  
  
"Your heart." She licked her lips and shifted towards him, hand coming to rest lightly where his heart was. "Mine's beating terribly fast."  
  
Euan swallowed. He wasn't rightly sure what it was he was feeling, but he was very warm and just a little uncomfortable, and he was having a hard time keeping his gaze off her lips.  
  
Startlingly blue eyes flicked up to him. "Yours too," she said, a little breathless now. She'd never considered Euan in this way, how it might feel if he did what she could clearly see in his eyes, but just this moment she could think of nothing else.  
  
Mira licked her lips again and fisted her hand in his shirt. "Euan-"  
  
"Mira?" He was confused. Part of him wanted something, but he wasn't entirely sure what it was, and she was looking at him and it was making him even more confused. Mira didn't look at him like this. Usually there was a smile in her eyes, laughter dancing at the edges of her mouth. But there was something else there now, something a little darker and more intent. Euan wasn't used to it, but it made his heart beat faster still, made him restless for something, but he wasn't sure what.  
  
Her lips curled slightly. It was true she'd just noticed that his lower lip was quite full, and that she might want to nibble it, but the slightly lost look he was giving her was familiar. "Don't worry, Euan. It's nothing bad. Just ... just this," she murmured as she tip-toed up to press her lips to his.  
  
His mind blanked for all of several seconds, followed by sheer panic that one of his best friends was kissing him, but then she nipped his lip and thought fled. On hand came up, hovered a moment, and then slid to cup her jaw. The tiny sound she made caused his next moves to be somewhat jerky, but somehow his hands ended up in her hair, silk against his skin, her body ended up molded to his. Euan wasn't quite sure how one could be thirsty for someone else, but just that particular moment, he was parched and she was his water, every little catch of breath and tiny shudder.


	34. Hey, Soul Sister (Bishop Rascaile, Gwenog Jones)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s not his little sister, not really. She’s Joscelin’s little sister. But Joscelin’s gone, and the people masquerading as caretakers are poor excuses for parents. That makes it his job to take care of her, because even though she’s not his real sister, she’s still his, and that’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for mugglechump at a 2010 drabble meme. Bishop Rascaile is mugglechump's original character written at Caliga RPG. Joscelin Jones is Gwenog Jones' older brother, and Bishop is his best friend.

“If Mother sees you, she really will curse you this time.” The delivery was dry, but both humor and genuine worry slid across Gwen’s features. “You know you’re not supposed to come when Joscelin isn’t here,” she hissed moments later as she pushed the large man back towards Tretower’s massive front doors.  
  
Bishop grinned and refused to move. “And you were supposed to meet me down at _The Fiddle_ an hour ago, Gwenny. What’s a man to do when his best mate’s darling little sister stands him up?” His grin widened at Gwen’s glare. “Besides, if she curses me, I’ll gladly take her into the Ministry for assaulting a public servant.”  
  
“Not if you’re ground to a pulp, you won’t.”   
  
Whether Gwen meant that her mother would incinerate him, or she would, Bishop wasn’t sure. Both women had twitchy wand hands, though that was about the only thing they had in common. Joscelin and Gwen’s mother was manipulative, vapid and ice cold. Little Gwenny would never be like that. She had a stick the size of the British Isles stuck up her arse, but she would never be the unfeeling thing her parents were.   
  
Bishop eyed the summer dress and strappy little sandal things she was wearing. “Eh, she’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself before moving in one swift motion to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder. Gwen’s squeak at the intrusion brought another grin to his lips, and even as she started pounding against his back, he turned and headed for the door.   
  
“Bishop!” she hissed, “if Mother sees-”  
  
“Oh, look at that,” he interrupted, “we’re already out of the house. Just like you wanted.”  
  
“Not with _me_ ,” she growled as she attempted kicking him. “Mother’s having tea with Miranda Osbourne. She invited me and I only came out here to make sure she didn’t see you.” Gwen blew angrily at the hair in her eyes.   
  
“How did you know I was here?” He banded both arms across her legs when her little sandled foot came too close to a swipe at the family jewels, but didn’t slow his tread across the grounds towards the road outside the wards and the village pub that it would lead to.   
  
“The wards. They like me better than mother.” There was a small amount of pride in her voice at that. The mansion had been around for so long that the magic inlaid into the foundations was nearly a sentient thing now – whomever the house claimed was the true Master, the true head of the Jones family. It had chosen her brother over her father, and it seemed now that she was of age, it had chosen to share its secrets with her instead of her mother as well. “But she’ll send Lulu after me if I don’t return.”  
  
Whatever thoughts had passed through her head seemed to have distracted her enough that she stopped struggling and Bishop loosened his hold. “She can stuff herself.”  
  
Gwen’s lips twitched and she pushed herself up as much as she could. The blood rushing to her head was making her dizzy. “I’ll not disagree, but she’ll just punish the elves for my disappearance if I don’t return.”   
  
“Is she in the gardens?”  
  
Gwen frowned and tried to twist about to catch a glimpse of him. “Yes. Why?”  
  
Bishop turned abruptly back towards the mansion. “We’ll just let mummy dearest know where you’re off to, is all.” He could see the pinched look on Francis Jones’ face already and it made him grin again. He’d been friends with Gwen’s older brother since he was eleven years old and she had been looking at Bishop – ‘a dirty Half-blood’ – like he smelled like dung for as long as he could remember.   
  
Gwen’s eyes widened. “You’re not going to call her that, are you?”  
  
“I am now.”  
  
“ _Bishop!_ ” She started pounding on his back again. “At least put me down. I don’t want her to see my knickers too.”  
  
“That’s a shame. They’re very nice. It’s good to know they’re not green or black, too. That’s all the Slytherin girls wore when I was in school, you know.”  
  
Gwen could feel heat tint her skin, but instead of indulging in the embarrassment Bishop was trying to tug out of her, she pulled at his shirt until skin was exposed and the raked her nails across his back.   
  
The burn of pain was so sudden that something between a growl and a yelp filled the air even as his step faltered and he lost his grip on Gwen.   
  
She was already heading straight for the ground when time rushed back and he grabbed at her. It was one thing to teasingly poke at the touchy teenager, but it was another to physically harm her. Unfortunately, catching bodies was anything but easy. He did manage to get an arm around her waist, and he felt her grab onto his leg. “Everything okay down there?”  
  
“Gwenog?”  
  
Gwen closed her eyes and let her forehead drop against Bishop’s denim-clad leg. “Yes, Mother?”  
  
“Mmm.” The stately woman’s lips thinned. “Your father’s dogs need to be fed. Do be a dear and see to them.”  
  
Gwen was upside down and dangling precariously from her mother’s most hated of people, and yes, her knickers were probably quite visible now, but she was still a lady of the noble line of Jones. She wriggled and was grateful that for once, Bishop actually did what she wanted and helped her to her feet. “I was only answering the door, Mother. I was on my way back.”  
  
“I think not. You are no lady of our family. If you prefer the company of dogs, then I will leave you to them.” She sniffed at Bishop. “You are not welcome for the rest of Lady Osbourne’s visit.” Cold, dark eyes shifted back to Gwen. “And do be quiet. I know you’ve the grace of a lumbering elephant, but I should like to be spared your squawking.”   
  
Gwen watched her mother go. It was not unexpected to earn her mother’s disdain. In fact, it was the norm if she was to gain Francis Jones’ attention at all. Invitations to tea with her mother’s friends were the rare thing, and as Gwen watched Francis disappear around the corner, she was unsure whether to be upset, angry or apathetic. Joscelin had told her millions of times to ignore them, that it wasn’t worth caring what they thought, that their opinion didn’t matter, but she just couldn’t help but _want_ them to see her, to think good of her. Joscelin didn’t understand what it felt like to be invisible. They were no more kind to him, but at least he _existed_ to them. He was the firstborn son, all they had ever wanted. She was the surprise, the child they would have destroyed had it not been sacrilege to abort a pureblood child.  
  
The muscles in Bishop’s jaw clenched. It took several moments for him to reign in the urge to pull his wand, to pound into Joscelin and Gwen’s mother like he did common criminals as a Hit Wizard. She was the vilest woman he had ever had the displeasure of knowing. He and Joscelin had derived endless amounts of pleasure ticking her off when they were children, but it was different with Gwen. Francis was more calculated with her daughter. _Meaner_.  
  
Shaking off the violence coursing through his veins, Bishop turned his attention to the girl next to him. She was still staring at the spot where Francis had been. Her face was blank, but there was a sheen of tears in her eyes. He had to fight off the urge to go after Francis again, but when it passed, he shifted to block her view of the pathway towards the gardens. “I could arrest her for exposing the public to toxic poisons?”  
  
A snort of mirthless laughter escaped Gwen and served to disrupt her current line of thought. “It secretes from her skin too. I do think that’s more of a medical problem than one concerning the law.”  
  
Bishop’s lips curled slightly. He hated that she was here by herself with those people. It gave him all the more reason to steal her away, especially during the months when she wasn’t at Hogwarts. “Maybe we could get Mungos to force her into quarantine?”  
  
“Now there’s a thought.” Her face was thoughtful, mien calm, but Gwen was still a storm inside. She hated her mother, but wanted her approval. She wanted the attention they had always bestowed upon Joscelin, and yet she wanted them to never look at her again, to leave her alone. She hated being a girl. She hated all the feelings that made her feel like a boat being tossed in turbulent waters.   
  
Her attention was seemingly on him, but Bishop could tell he’d lost her again. There was something that always worked with this one though, and without contemplating further, he reached out and tugged her into his arms. She was stiff at first – she always was – but when he didn’t loosen his hold, Gwen seemingly melted into him and he felt her arms slip around his waist. She was warm, always just this side of _too_ warm. “She’s a witch.”  
  
“So am I,” Gwen said, though it was soft and lacked the dry unaffectedness she’d been trying out of late.   
  
“You’re tolerable though,” he told her.  
  
She tipped her head and looked up at him. “You’re lucky I’m not allowed my wand yet, else I’d show you how tolerable I can be.”  
  
There she was. His Gwenny. Bishop grinned. “I’ve got nine months until the fateful day until you’re allowed to use it outside of school, and I plan to take full advantage.”  
  
“Mmm.” She eyed him.  
  
“Besides,” he said as he shifted them so they could walk back towards the road, “you like that I’m an arse.”  
  
“Only because it makes you a likely target. There’ll be no reason for me to seek out others to practice my hexes upon next summer.” Bishop wasn’t Joscelin, but he was hers. He was hers in a way that no one else was or ever had been, and she let herself enjoy his arm holding her close to his side as they walked. It was comforting and she was determined to soak it up. She didn’t get such things in this house now that Joscelin was in Romania with his dragons.  
  
“And yet again, I’m doing my bit to keep the public safe.”  
  
Gwen glanced up at him and blinked against the sun. “My hero.”  
  
He tapped her nose. “Smart-arse.”  
  
It was true, but so was the fact that he was her hero. Gwen just stuck her tongue out at him though, and then settled back against his side. “Smart enough to be wary of your dancing prowess at _The Fiddle_. Light of step, you are not, my dear ogre.”  
  
“Ogre?”   
  
Bishop glanced down at her and then flashed a grin that Gwen knew to be wary of. She’d seen it on her brother’s face too many times to mistake it for anything but what it was. Trouble.   
  
Before she could put a healthy amount of distance between them, Gwen found herself tossed over Bishop’s shoulder again. She sighed and laid her cheek against his back, not even trying to fight it this time. “Could you at least make sure my knickers are covered?”  
  
“Do ogre’s have social niceties?”   
  
“This one does if he doesn’t want me to rip his back open with my claws again,” Gwen told him.  
  
“Well then. I suppose this one does,” Bishop said as he reached up to tug the hem of her dress. He glanced over to make sure everything was in place and his eyes widened when he caught sight of the scrap of fabric he was trying to cover to her satisfaction. “Some Slytherin you’re turning out to be. You really aren’t wearing green or black.”  
  
“ _Bishop!_ ”


	35. Nothing Without You (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG.
> 
> Warning: sexual themes.

She was alive beneath his hands. Smooth, golden skin heated and flushed, and she shivered despite the warmth. It was an addictive thing to watch Katie react to him and Fred wasn’t sure how he had been able to deprive himself of her for so damn long. Her hazel eyes would go hazy with awareness and want, and her lips would part as her breathing quickened. It would only take the lightest, most teasing of touches through moistened curls to make her arch off the bed, make that soft, _addictive_ sound pass her lips.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Kit,” he murmured, blue eyes intent on hers as he slipped a finger inside of her, watched her lashes flutter.   
  
She took a breath to respond, but a shudder went down her spine and her hands fluttered before finding purchase at his shoulder, on his arm. Katie’s hips still moved with his hand, but she forced herself to focus, found his gaze again. “I miss him, too,” she breathed, nails biting into his skin as he slipped another finger in her, filled her. “Don’t make me miss you when I shouldn’t have to.”  
  
It was as close as she would ever come to telling him what to do, to demanding something of him. It was a testament to how bad it had been for her. They had lost George, and then he had lost himself to grief, but Katie had lost them both when he’d drawn away. She had grieved doubly; not one lover lost, but two, and no one to share her tears with. The thought of her all alone like that made him hate himself a little bit. He didn’t deserve her, this.  
  
He was too selfish to let her go though. He needed her.  
  
“Never again,” he told her, his own pulse pounding as he watched her dance on the precipice of pleasure. “I’m yours ‘til forever, Kit.”  
  
Unshed tears made her eyes glisten and Katie shifted her hands to cup his face. “I love you, too,” she breathed, lips finding his moments later, desperate to quench the thirst of a drought that should have never been. Pleasure was given with the curl of fingers to rekindle the warmth lost, to ignite the flame on a cry of his name, a shudder, and a pulse of heat that he filled with the joining of hips til stars were found together.


	36. Between the Lines (Harry Potter, Mira Montgomery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry’s a little beat up after combat training and Mira helps with the Bruise Balm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for goddessvicky at a 2010 drabble meme. Harry is written by goddessvicky at Caliga RPG. The Montgomery sisters are last-name-only canon characters. I've fleshed out one of the two as Mira Montgomery at Caliga RPG (and mugglechump writes her twin, Cassie Montgomery).
> 
> Harry is the head of the MLE and Mira used to be his assistant. They became close friends, and continue to be so even though she now works in the Experimental Charms Committee a few floors up.

Mira swallowed and was _very_ glad Harry couldn’t see her face. “Just because you decided to go back in the field doesn’t mean you should go and get yourself beat up for sport.”  
  
“It wasn’t exactly for sport,” Harry insisted. “If any Auror’s been inactive for a certain amount of time, they _have_ to fight the Auror Mao. He’s the Wandless Training instructor – if he thinks you can take care of yourself in the field,” Harry shrugged, “well, then you pass.”  
  
Mira eyed the bruises mottling his back and tried to ignore the heat in her cheeks. Finally seeing Harry without his shirt on wasn’t going to help her ignore her silly attraction to him.  
  
“Well, he didn’t have to beat you within an inch of your life,” she huffed as she finally dipped her fingers into the Bruise Balm.  
  
“Trust me. It was _much_ worse when I was a Trainee,” he told her, though any other words he might have said disappeared as his mind suddenly blanked. The balm was cool against his skin and was already starting to tingle, but that wasn’t really what had his pulse pounding. Mira’s touch was gentle, soft and made any kind of coherent thought completely impossible just that particular moment.  
  
Mira was intensely aware of the hushed silence in the room now, but she didn’t stop her task. She _really_ wanted to blow on the still-damp areas where she’d already applied the balm, but only _just_ held herself back. “Did you have anyone to do this for you when you were a Trainee?” she asked, skin flushing pinker when she realized her voice was somewhat breathless.  
  
“No, I…” He had to fight the urge to let loose the shudder that wanted down his spine when her fingers brushed lightly across his neck before gently rubbing more balm into his shoulder. “Hermione might have, I suppose, but it never occurred to me to ask.”  
  
“Poor thing. You must have been an aching mess all the time.” Mira licked her lips and tried to will away her blush as she pulled her hand back and wiped her fingers on the cloth. “There you go.” She held pot of balm over his shoulder. “If you need it to be applied again, just let me know.”  
  
Harry breathed out and took it from her before turning around on the stool to face her. Mira was already halfway out the door, though. “Thanks…”  
  
“You’re welcome!” she called back. Running away wasn’t exactly a solution, but at least he wouldn’t see how much he’d affected her. It was better this way. He had much more important things to worry about than a silly schoolgirl crush that would probably just ruin their friendship if he knew.  
  
Harry watched the empty doorway a long time and wondered at the racing of his heart.  
  
“Tea, sir?”  
  
Startled, Harry blinked, and his assistant came into focus. If Aaron noticed the disheveled appearance of the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement, he did a very good job of ignoring it.  
  
“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Aaron.”  
  
“Very good, sir.” He popped back into the door moments later. “The Minister is coming down in the next hour.”  
  
“Right. Of course,” Harry said as he finally made to stand. “Should probably put on a tie, or something,” he sighed as he put on his tee.  
  
Aaron’s lips twitched. “Very good, sir,” he said before disappearing for good this time.  
  
Harry ran his hands over his face and then through his hair until it stood on end in a very good parody of his school days. Part of him wondered at the still-insistent pound of his pulse, but duty called. It always did.


	37. White Blank Page (Jonathan Savage/Gwenog Jones)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you lie next to her and give her your heart, as well as your body? Can you lie next to her and confess your love, as well as your folly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Savage is a last-name-only canon character that goddessvicky fleshed out as Jonathan Savage, Auror, at Caliga RPG.
> 
> The song lyrics referenced in italics are from "White Blank Page" by Mumford & Sons.

_A white blank page and a swelling rage  
You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink_

  
  
Life had taught Jonathan Savage that people were not to be trusted.   
  
It started with the back of his father’s hand. School had been much of the same. Being the surly, small boy in Slytherin made him a prime target of his housemates. Being the pureblood snake alum with a chip on his shoulder in the Auror training program only invited more ridicule and ultimately solidified Jonathan’s opinions.  
  
He moved to America to avoid the war, broke all connections with his family and what little human contact he allowed himself was professional, or the kind that only lasted a night.  
  
He’d been fine.   
  
And then he had met Gwen. He’d thought she was like all the others. He couldn't have been more wrong.  
  
Gwen Jones changed his life. It wasn’t until much too late that he realized how dangerous it was to attempt knowing her, figuring out what set her apart from the others.

 

_Can you lie next to her and give her your heart?_  
As well as your body?  
And can you lie next to her and confess your love, your love?  
As well as your folly?

  
  
He hadn’t known what it was to crave someone, what it was to taste them and want more. He was insatiable now. He wanted her body, her soul, her everything. He wanted to _be_ her everything, worthy of all she had given and shown him.  
  
“ _Jonathan_.”   
  
Hearing his name on her lips never failed to move him. Many had called it in passion before, but none had known him, known him and still wanted him. None had he wanted so deeply it felt as if he was shaken to the very depths of his soul. Every slide of sweat slickened skin, every roll of his hips and every arch of her body was more than the uncountable touches of nameless faces in his past.  
  
He held her close, drank her, lost himself in her.   
  
Her hands were just as possessive, just as wanting. She pulled at his hair, raked her nails down his back when she shuddered beneath him, and her teeth left imprints when she was close, wanted him to fall over the edge of the abyss with her. She demanded all of him.   
  
“Yes,” he murmured against her mouth before claiming her lips, the shuddering sighs as he filled her again. Again, and again, and again. “ _Yes_.”  
  
Love. He’d once thought it nothing but a lie, but he could feel the truth of it in every weighted look, every brush of her fingertips to his cheek, the unbidden smiles that were like jewels to him for their rarity. Jonathan knew that nothing but love could account for this, for _her_.

 

_Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life  
Oh, lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life_


	38. An Epic Battle of Epic Epicness (Harry Potter, Mira Montgomery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry apparates into the middle of a battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for goddessvicky as part of a 2010 drabble meme. Harry is written by goddessvicky at Caliga RPG. The Montgomery sisters are last-name-only canon characters. I've fleshed out one of the two as Mira Montgomery at Caliga RPG (and mugglechump writes her twin, Cassie Montgomery). Nate Rosier is Mira and Cassie's cousin, and my original character.

When Harry arrived with a ‘pop’ of Apparation outside of Peregrine Cottage, he wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.   
  
Snow. Lots, and lots of snow. It’d been drizzling in London – it was _always_ drizzling in London – and it’d just not occurred to him that it might be different at Mira’s home. Her home in the mountains of Cumbria. He was an idiot. Sighing, he pulled his glasses off and wiped the snow from them.  
  
And was promptly hit by a snowball.  
  
He was already reaching for his wand, instinct, but the voice ringing through the silence stilled him.  
  
“Harry! Run!” Mira called as she skidded around the cottage and raced toward him. “This is enemy territory!”  
  
His muscles tensed again at her words, but when he realized she was smiling, his brows only pulled together in confusion.  
  
And he was hit by another snowball.  
  
“You need to _run_ ,” Mira said breathlessly as she neared him. Only she didn’t slow. She snatched his hand in her gloved one and pulled him with her.   
  
Another snowball whizzed over their heads, and that’s when Harry realized what he’d dropped in on.   
  
“Nate and Cassie have the front of the cottage, and Abigail and I are in the back,” Mira explained once they rounded the corner on the other side of the house and paused to catch their breath. “Whoever captures the flag first, wins.” She grinned at him. “And snowballs are the chosen weapon. If you get hit three times in enemy territory, you have to sit out for two minutes in jail.”  
  
“Jail?” Her cheeks were pink, likely from the cold, but Harry couldn’t help but notice how blue it made her eyes look.  
  
“On the porch,” she said with a grin.   
  
“And I’m on your team,” he surmised as he wiped his glasses again. When they were back on his nose, she was pointing her wand at him and his eyes widened. It was only a charm – one that made the fog and moisture disappear from the lenses.  
  
“There we go. You’re ready for battle,” she said cheerfully as she slid her wand back into her coat. She eyed him, gaze lingering on the snowy patches where he’d been tagged. “How many times did you get hit?”   
  
“Twice.” He grimaced.  
  
“Ugh. Abs and I have been hit twice each, too. I’ve only gotten Cass once. Nate’s MIA.” Her eyes narrowed and she pulled him along with her again. “Which means he’s probably sneaking around on our territory.” She produced a hard-packed snowball from her pocket and handed it to him. “Keep an eye out.”  
  
The serious look that settled on her features as she switched to ‘battle’ mode made Harry grin, but when she narrowed her eyes at him, he sobered, straightened his spine, and saluted. “Aye, aye, captain.”  
  
She nodded, apparently pleased that he was taking things seriously now. “At ease, soldier. Kill anything that moves.” With that she produced another snowball from her – likely charmed – pocket, and took off across the snow-covered yard toward the grove of trees.  
  
War games. With snow. This, he could do.   
  
Movement caught his eye and the snowball was flying from his hand before he’d thought about it. It exploded against the side of Nate’s head, and Harry was already bending to gather snow for another hit, but Mira’s cousin raced away.  
  
Harry grinned, packed his snowball and then followed after Mira.


	39. There's a Charm for That (Mira Montgomery, Cassie Montgomery, Nate Rosier)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for mugglechump as part of a 2010 drabble meme. The Montgomery sisters are last-name-only canon characters. I've fleshed out one of the two as Mira Montgomery at Caliga RPG (and mugglechump writes her twin, Cassie Montgomery). Nate Rosier is Mira and Cassie's cousin, and my original character.

Mira and Cassie looked at the tree, looked at each other, and then nodded in unison.   
  
“That’s the one,” Cassie said.  
  
“It must be ours,” Mira added with a decisive nod.  
  
Nate eyed the tree, then his twin cousins. “You both realize it’s too big for your cottage, right?”  
  
“There’s a charm for that,” Mira said with a dismissive wave of her hand.   
  
Cassie made a face at him, adding, “There’s no such thing as ‘too big’ for a Christmas tree. Really, Nate.”   
  
Nate’s gaze went back to the pine tree. It was well over fifteen meters, and the breadth of it would entirely fill their little living room. Women.  
  
He pulled his wand.  
  
“Ah, ah, ah,” Cassie sing-songed, a smirk curling her lips. “No magic. That was the deal.”  
  
“Mmhmm,” Mira hummed, blue eyes bright. “There is certainly a charm for that, but you don’t get to use it. Loser has to cut the tree down by hand.”  
  
“And you, cousin, are the loser in this little band,” Cassie said. She plucked his wand from his grasp and shooed him toward the tree. “Get on with it then.”  
  
“Yes, let’s see the manly display, or whatever it is they call it,” Mira said as she transfigured a branch into a saw and handed it to him.   
  
He should have never let himself be goaded into dueling with them.   
  
“Harpies,” he grumbled as he snagged the saw from Mira and proceeded to crawl through the mounds of snow beneath the bushy, oversized tree. It was one of the most undignified things he could recall doing.  
  
“Victory is so, so sweet,” Cassie said with a grin.  
  
“If you don’t shut it,” Nate said, voice muffled as he began to saw, “I’ll fell it on the two of you.”  
  
“Nope,” Mira informed him cheerily. “There’s a charm for that, too.”  
  
Nate scowled. Women.


	40. Give In to Me (Fred Weasley/Katie Bell)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Fred is written by silverstardance at Caliga RPG. The song quoted is "Give In to Me" by Garrett Hedlund and Leighton Meester from the movie _Country Strong_.
> 
> Warnings: sexual themes, biting.

_I’m gonna start a fire, you’re gonna feel the heat_

  
Fred couldn’t really say how it happened; only that it did.  
  
On Friday afternoon bitty blonde Katie Bell had only been the little imp that stopped in at _Wheezes_ on occasion to check on him and blush prettily when he said something suggestive. He didn’t really mean it. She was a friend and off limits, especially to a self-admitted rake like Fred.  
  
By Saturday night when she was pressed against him on the dance floor, rolling her hips in ways Fred hadn’t thought she actually knew how to, given all the blushes, she was something else entirely. Still bitty and blonde, but his hands had found curves and warm skin where her tiny top rode up. He’d found that when he said those racy things against her hear and skittered his fingers along her skin at the base of her spine, she would shiver, and her breath would pant against his neck.  
  
She was still off limits. So he kept telling himself. But he didn’t really mean that, either.  
  
It was July, and the heat was pressing, and Fred liked to blame what happened on the fact that few clothes were really necessary in such weather.

 

_I’m gonna burn for you, you’re gonna melt for me_

  
She didn’t even know what she did to him. When he kissed her, it was surprise (and that blush) that tinted her features. Fred had been with a lot of men and women, but none were quite like Katie Bell. The others hadn’t always been able to tell him apart from George, and they hadn’t grieved alongside him at losing his twin to the war, and they didn’t shiver when his eyes lingered. The others didn’t make his heart burn, and his soul ache.  
  
But most of all, the others didn’t melt for him quite like she did. A finger down the column of her throat made her lips part and her pulse quicken. Her eyes would go hazy when he dragged his teeth just over the soft skin beneath her ear, and she would sigh softly and say, “ _Please?_ ” He would sink his teeth there to leave an imprint and she would shudder, and after that it was nothing but need; lips dragging over skin, hands taking and claiming, a cry when he buried himself in her, and his name escaping in ragged pants over and over.  
  
He married her by Christmas.  
  
Twenty years and three children later, she still made him burn and he knew exactly how to make her melt.


	41. Every Teardrop is a Waterfall (Harry Potter/Reese Ashley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry hadn't ever met someone more broken inside than himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Harry is written by goddessvicky at Caliga RPG.

Harry hadn't ever met someone more broken inside than himself. She'd lost everything, same as him, and had been abused and hunted and mistreated in ways that made his blood boil to think on. She'd even lost part of herself, her sanity, to it all.   
  
No, Harry hadn't met someone as broken as himself, but he hadn't met someone so determined to live despite it all, either. To live _well_ and as _whole_ as she could with what she was given.  
  
Perhaps that's why he'd fallen for Reese Ashley. He hadn't meant to, of course. He'd thought her a little odd the first time they'd met, what with the way she spoke of his 'colors', of things that didn't quite make sense, things that felt like truth, but were just odd enough and just far enough outside his ability to comprehend that he'd dismissed it all as the incomprehensible babble of a person who obviously wasn't entirely there. But he learned that tiny, blonde and fey-like Reese Ashley was quite lucid. He learned that she could see underneath the underneath. Or, auras. It was the best he could explain it, anyway. Whatever she saw, it was real and it meant something, and it was truth.  
  
Harry didn't envy her the ability. She could see the truth of things and most times it was best to live in at least a bit of ignorance. Easier.   
  
It certainly would have been easier if they'd never met. She wouldn't have looked at him that first time and cried. She wouldn't have put her soft little hand on his cheek and told him that it would get better, that he just had to let the light in him finish it's work in edging out the darkness, the lingering grey thunderstorms of pain and the vivid crimson of his anger and bitterness. She wouldn't have disturbed his thoughts for months on end and left him wondering if it was just babble, or if there was truly something to her tears and her touch and her words.  
  
It wasn't until the first time he'd kissed her that he'd understood.  
  
Her lips had been soft and yielding, her body a perfect fit in the cradle of his own, but it was the explosion of color behind his eyelids that truly changed everything.  
  
For a half a moment, Harry had seen what she could see. It was beautiful and terrifying and absolutely real.  
  
In the end, however, it was the soft sighs of her pleasure against his mouth and the feather-light touch of her fingers trailing down his back when they made love that truly changed him. Reese had always been convinced that he could heal the darkness inside of him by himself, but it was her that changed everything, she who taught him how to see through it to the other side and _live_.


	42. Kissing Constellations (Percy Weasley/Reese Ashley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps if she hadn't managed to soothe him into a fog he might have thought of all the logical reasons he should restrain himself, but she had, and he didn't think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Percy is written by amazonmink at Caliga RPG.

Reese was usually one to wait for permission. She didn't take without asking.  
  
But her Leo's eyes were so very blue, the cerulean of his aura so very bright, his hair so shiny too... she couldn't be blamed for being dazed and susceptible to his nearness when he leaned across her to snatch a book. She couldn't be held accountable for her actions when his mouth curled just so, content and happy, forcing her eyes to drop to lightly freckled lips.  
  
"Alright then?" Percy asked, slightly concerned at his fey blonde friend's hazy expression.  
  
"Uh huh," she said, tone light and airy and distracted. "Did you know you have constellations on your lips, too?" Reese's index finger lightly traced from a freckle at the bow of his lip, to the corner, and then along the path of three faint, freckled points across his bottom lip.  
  
Percy stilled. And for some reason his pulse jumped.   
  
"You've Leo on your arm, but right here," she retraced the path backwards, catching his lip slightly on the journey, "right here you've got Cassiopeia."  
  
Curiously, Percy's heart was beating rather fast now. Reese touched him all the time, but she'd never touched him quite like this, and never with hazy, intent dark eyes.  
  
Reese lifted her gaze up to his. "I'm going to taste you now, okay?"   
  
But Reese didn't wait for him to respond. She just leaned in, closed the scant distance between them, and lightly pressed her lips to his.  
  
Percy was quite sure he was a little dazed himself now.  
  
She lingered, tiny hands pressed lightly to his chest as she did just as she said she would; tasted. Soft lips pressed against the corner of his mouth, then to the bow of his top lip, then to the bottom. It was only when she sucked softly at the fullness of his lower lip that Percy seemed to stir from the drowsy, warm place Reese had lulled him to.  
  
Heat, a white hot thing, sluiced through him. Perhaps if she _hadn't_ managed to soothe him into a fog he might have thought of all the logical reasons he should restrain himself, but she had, and he didn't think.  
  
Long, tapered fingers slid into her hair and he tugged her back to him when she started to pull away. His mouth slanted over hers for something more, for the promises she had made with each soft press of lips, and when her breath hitched and she opened for him, little hands fisting in his shirt, Percy found himself only pulling her closer, hands smoothing down her back, beneath her shirt to the hot skin of her back.  
  
" _Leo._ "   
  
It was the gasp of his name, her name for him, and her warm breath against his ear that brought him back down to earth.   
  
He stopped, pulled his lips away from her jawline. His breathing was fast and loud in the quiet of the room, his heartbeat a pounding rush in his ears. "I'm sorry," he gasped, unable to pull away to look her in the eye.  
  
He felt her hair brush against his cheek when she shook her head slightly. "No, no, Leo the lion, don't be sorry," she whispered, her own breathing quick and panting. Small hands traced up his chest to press lightly against his neck, skin against skin. "You taste delicious."  
  
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, relief flooding through him. "So do you," he said just as quietly, a confession he'd never thought to make.


	43. "Bird of the Summer" by A Fine Frenzy (Miles Bletchley/Reese Ashley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the May 2011 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> Miles is written by mugglechump at Caliga RPG. The song quoted is "Bird of the Summer" by A Fine Frenzy.

  
_My cheeks, red like fire engines, racing straight to the heat of your skin,_   
_and I know our days are numbered,_   
_early bird of the summer, you'll fly south just as the fall begins_   


  
  
She tasted like summer.  
  
Not that Miles had any idea what summer tasted like, but it was the first thing that came to mind when Reese Ashley pressed her lips to his.  
  
He didn’t have any business thinking about what summer tasted like. Fanciful notions were better left to children, Hufflepuffs, and the fey-like woman who’d inspired the whimsical thought in the first place . He was a Slytherin. A lawyer. He wore perfectly pressed suits. He was ruthlessly practical when need be, and morally flexible. Men like him didn’t contemplate such things as the taste of summer (lips like wild berries, breath like a warm breeze, skin as soft as a rose petal) .  
  
When he was with Reese, though, Miles took picnics in the park on sunny days. He didn’t mind so much when she tugged his hair into disarray, or made him take off his shoes to walk barefoot in the grass. The crinkles around his eyes were from smiles instead of frowns of intense concentration. He found himself believing there _was_ good in the world, that maybe happy endings did exist. Reese made the impossible seem possible, and the fanciful, real and attainable.  
  
He’d not been ready when she’d done what she’d done.  
  
Reese had held his face in her tiny hands more times than he could count, if only to hold him close as was her way, or to study him, or even just to grab his attention and share a smile. This time, though, her green gaze had lingered on his mouth and before he’d been able to decipher the darkening of her gaze, she’d closed the small distance and brushed her lips against his. Once, twice, a soft sigh, and then a firmer press of lips that made his heart race and his body thrum.  
  
It was how he came to find himself thinking about the taste of summer.  
  
Before he could think too hard, however, Miles threaded his fingers in her blonde hair and pulled her back for another taste.


	44. "Sweetest Sin" by Jessica Simpson (Bishop Rascaile/Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the May 2011 iPod Shuffle Fic Challenge (Rules: (1) Pick your favorite fandom. (2) Put your iPod on shuffle. (3) Write a drabble for the first ten songs. (4) You can only write for the duration of the song.)
> 
> Bishop Rascaile is an original character written by mugglechump at Caliga RPG. The song quoted is "Sweetest Sin" by Jessica Simpson.

Gwen didn’t like surprises. On most days, she didn’t much like Bishop Rascaile either. She’d long outgrown the days when he’d been her childhood hero, someone able to conquer the world, and her demons, right alongside her big brother.   
  
She was twenty now; older, wiser, and she knew better than to think Bishop was anything other than a jackass.   
  
All he did was poke and prod, and he _never_ had a good word to say about her Quidditch games. She didn’t know why he bothered coming. He didn’t even like the Harpies, much less watching her play for them. Gwen could only reason that he dutifully showed up at every home match in some misplaced, convoluted sense of duty to her brother since _that_ cretin had gone off to chase dragons across the continent and never came to _any_ of her games.   
  
Or perhaps he was just a masochist.   
  
He would say something asinine, she would threaten him, he would continue on being an ignoramus, she would pull her wand, he would bait her, and she often sent a stunner or two his way. And when he really pissed her off, Gwen was known to throw some very nasty hexes.   
  
This time, though, Bishop went too far.  
  
“It’s good Jos wasn’t here. You were shite tonight, Gwennie.”  
  
It was a low blow. Gwen missed her brother terribly, and though she knew it couldn’t be true, she could never quite banish the thought that she wasn’t enough to keep him home. It didn’t help matters that she was exhausted, and that she actually _had_ played like shite. She’d caught the snitch in the end, but Falmouth’s seeker had still man-handled her all over the pitch. It’d taken her three tries to catch the damn thing, and just in time. If she’d let the maggot throw her off course one more time, they may have lost the game.  
  
Her nostrils flared and tired, angry tears made her eyes shine.   
  
Gwen’s hand whipped through the air before she could remind herself of the oddness that had settled between them the last several months, and that she didn’t like surprises, and that it was best not to lay a finger on the abominable man.  
  
Before her palm could make contact with the side of his face, however, her wrist was tightly grasped in his hand.   
  
She should have been angry and upset, irritated that he’d thwarted her attempt to relieve the self-loathing he’d inspired with his words. She wasn’t any of those things though. She was shaken, suddenly weak, shocked.  
  
Heat buzzed up her arm from where he held her wrist, sluiced through her body until it pooled low in her belly. Lips parted and dark eyes widened, shooting to his as awareness tingled along every nerve ending and heat washed over her skin like fire.   
  
He looked just as floored as she felt.  
  


  
_Can you imagine us making love?_   
_The way it would feel the first time that we touch?_   
_Your lips on my lips, your fingertips on my fingertips,_   
_Your skin upon my skin, would be the sweetest sin_   



	45. Get Some (Viktor Krum/Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for hp_humpdrabbles on LiveJournal. Viktor was written by jo_anne_storm at Caliga RPG.

Gwenog Jones was not a tease.  
  
The Holyhead Harpies seeker didn't know the meaning of delayed gratification. On the pitch, it was want, take, have. She wanted the snitch, and she always got what she wanted.  
  
She was much the same about everything else, Viktor had found. She was not a woman who dallied about what she wanted, or when she wanted it. She wanted _now_. Always so impatient.  
  
He did not mind so much. Just now she wanted him inside of her and Viktor was only too happy to oblige. The stadium still thundered with noise as the crowds exited, exhibition match over, but it was still not loud enough for him to miss her breath " _harder_ " and " _deeper_ " against his ear as he took her against the wall in the locker room. The noise did not completely swallow his growls as her nails dug into his back; her marks were always vividly red, always lasted for days.  
  
"Don't stop." It was breathless, hitched as he pressed her against the wall and filled her again, but it wasn't to be mistaken as a request. It was a demand.  
  
He wouldn't stop. It didn't prevent him from slowing though. "Problem, **коте**?" he asked, smirk curling his lips before he nipped her ear. "You are not in hurry, are you?"  
  
She whipped her head around, gaze hard. " _Fuck me_ , Viktor, or I will leave you and finish this myself."  
  
She was more disheveled than ever, dark hair tumbling around flushed features, her eyes so alive and intent and _on him_.  
  
Viktor gripped her thighs and sank deep into her. "I vill take care of it."  
  
And he did.


	46. Lunch Break (Jonathan Savage/Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Warnings:** Sexual themes.  
>  **Notes:** Written (very belatedly) for goddessvicky for a 2011 drabble meme. She requested Gwen (whom I write at Caliga RPG) with Jonathan Savage (whom she writes). This is a little throwback to when they first started dancing around one another in the beginning of their relationship -- the 'tap tap tap' of Gwen's heels will always be something of a sensory memory for Jonathan ;D

Jonathan's eyes flicked back and forth across the parchment. The report was one of hundreds. Since the attack had happened in such a crowded area, they'd gathered statements from every person present. 

It wasn't his job to read every single document -- that's what trainees and rookies were for -- but Jonathan liked to be thorough. He was good at unearthing pieces of the puzzle others had skipped over. 

_Click, click, click._

It started as an itch between his shoulder blades, and then buzzed up his neck until focus was impossible. 

Jonathan frowned, blinked, and gave up after reading the same sentence for the third time. 

_Click, click, click._

He stilled. His chest tightened and heat stirred in him.

He looked up and saw Gwen approaching his office through the one way glass that allowed him to see the goings on outside his office, but shielded him from view. 

His gaze darkened.

_Click, click... pause._

"Come in," he called when she raised her hand to knock. 

He watched her lips quirk slightly at the edges when she heard him, and her motion shifted easily from that of asking entrance to turning the knob and letting herself in. The click of the latch locking back into place when she closed the door behind her was loud in the otherwise hushed space.

When she finally lifted her eyes to meet his, Jonathan could see they were just as dark and intent as his own.

"You've been working rather tirelessly on your case. I thought you might want to take your lunch break," she said by way of greeting as she clipped toward him.

"Did you bring me something to nibble on?" 

"I did," she murmured as slim fingers slipped the top button of her shirt free.


	47. Men Will Be Boys (Joscelin Jones/Romilda Vane, Jonathan Savage/Gwenog Jones)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Warnings:** None!  
>  **Notes:** Written (very belatedly) for goddessvicky at a 2012 drabble meme. She requested Joscelin Jones (whom I write at Caliga RPG) and Jonathan Savage (whom she writes), with the prompt of 'contest'. In this piece, Joscelin's wife, Romy, and Jonathan's partner, Gwen (who is also Joscelin's sister), are commentating on their significant others' latest shenanigans ;D

The scene before them was one the two women had not yet encountered. Gwen and Romy tilted their heads simultaneously, expressions nonplussed.

"We shouldn't be surprised."

"No," Gwen agreed. "Not that utter chaos and ridiculousness has descended upon our families while we were gone. But..."

"... it _is_ surprising they haven't tried this before," Romy finished for her sister-in-law.

"Mmm," Gwen hummed in agreement. 

Their husbands were racing babies on the lawn. The rest of their children were running (or toddling) about, yelling, screaming and cheering on their baby of choice. The dogs were prancing in between all the bodies and barking happily. 

"Wine?" Romy asked.

"Definitely."


	48. Wings (Katie Bell, Reese Ashley)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Notes:** Written for the "Wings" prompt at [lastfanstanding](http://lastfanstanding.dreamwidth.org/2517.html?thread=28117#cmt28117) on Dreamwidth.

"Did it hurt?"

Reese's lashes fluttered as she shut her eyes. Katie's light touch against her skin made her feel calm, and safe, and just a bit sleepy. "Mmhmm. I cried a little every time, but it was important, and I had to finish."

Katie couldn't help but marvel at the artistry that had gone into the tattoo spanning her oldest friend's entire back. Angel wings sprouted from her spine, spread across her shoulders, and then folded against her body down the length of her back to the curve of her bum. The tattoo was so well done the wings almost looked as if they could spring from Reese's back at any moment. 

It was a little disorientating when Katie brushed her fingers against them and only felt smooth skin. 

She paused her exploration of the tattoo when she processed all of Reese's words and looked at the back of her tousled blonde head. "What's it for?"

Reese's lashes fluttered again as she opened her eyes and turned her head a bit, chin resting on her own shoulder. She could see Katie's rosy pinks just out of the corner of her eye, but her gaze was mostly inward, remembering. 

"When Alred died I was..." she paused, searching for the right word. Reese wasn't sure there were any words for how she felt. Only her paints could truly express everything that was inside her, everything she saw that other people didn't. "... I was empty, and lost, and stuck in the darkness, and I couldn't get out. If I'd had wings, I could have flown away from it all, could have been free from how much it hurt."

If anyone could save themselves with a talisman to represent the power of their conviction, it was Reese. Katie let her hand drop to her lap, breaking contact completely. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you, and that it had to hurt, and that you were alone."

Reese did glance at Katie over her shoulder then. "You're here now, yeah?"

Katie met the most earnest, guileless green gaze she'd ever known. Her lips curled up slightly and she nodded. "Yeah, I'm here now."


	49. Savage Sorting (Aryn Savage, Avery Savage)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Notes:** Written for the "Savage" prompt at [lastfanstanding](http://lastfanstanding.dreamwidth.org/43888.html?thread=706672#cmt706672) on Dreamwidth. Avery and Aryn Savage are original characters, created as [part of a four spawn set](https://sites.google.com/site/caligaortusrpg/kids#savage) for Gwenog Jones ( _whom I role-play_ ) and Jonathan Savage.

They weren't going to be the last ones to be sorted, but nearly so. Avery wasn't particularly concerned or anxious over it. He knew exactly where the Sorting Hat was going to put him -- and because of that, he'd been meticulously deliberate about everything he did and said, and how he outwardly presented, since arriving at Kings Cross. 

Perhaps it wasn't of such consequence on the train, but it was definitely important now. He knew his future housemates were watching, weighing, already making judgements that could possibly affect the relationships and connections he would be able to cultivate over the next seven years. He had suspected such would be the case, but his mother had confirmed as much, and answered all his questions thoroughly. Avery knew what awaited him and was prepared.

As the crowd of first years waiting to be sorted thinned, Avery knew he'd been recognized for what he was by those who were yet to be officially named housemates. He could feel their eyes, could particularly feel them focusing on the firm grasp he had of his twin's hand. To most it would look like they both needed mutual assurance, but _they_ would see differently. They would see weakness, potential fodder, prey. It was why he did not hesitate to meet those gazes. Avery knew what his place would be as a first year, but that did not mean he couldn't begin to establish himself as a person to be reckoned with, and as such would not remotely tolerate _anyone_ treating his twin with disrespect or as an easy target. 

He met a particularly piercing stare from an upperclassmen; lowering one's gaze was the equivalent to forfeiting his autonomy. The games had truly begun. 

He did not allow himself to look away and tightened his grip on his sister's hand. _Mine. Don't touch._

A brow was raised at him, lips twitched into a smirk. _Oh? We shall see._

The contest of wills was ended when another first year was directed to the front of the Great Hall and the upperclassman was elbowed into paying attention elsewhere. Avery watched a moment longer, observed that the older boy laughed at something said to him, and only then did he let his own gaze wander again. 

It was such moments Avery was glad his sister would not be in his house. He would miss her terribly, but it was best she was removed from such power games and intrigues. 

"You'll be next," he murmured to her. 

"I don't want to go," she whispered back. He could feel her shift closer into his side; he did not want to be away from her either. "Are you sure we'll be separated?"

They'd spoken of this, of course, but he said it again anyway. "Yes. You wouldn't like being with me anyway." The barest curve of his lips was given her. "It's damp and cold down there." 

His eyes lit at her wrinkled nose response. 

"Where do you think I--"

"Savage, Aryn!"

"We'll know soon enough," he murmured against her ear as he squeezed her hand. _Love you, love you, love you, miss you already_ was in the brief glance they shared, and then his hand was empty and for the first time that day Avery felt unsteady. 

She was with the hat for longer than he expected, longer than anyone else prior. She must be arguing with the hat. He met her gaze then, and her expression was imploring, a question in her eyes. He knew what she wanted from him and against his desire to have her back with him he shook his head. _No, don't make it send you with me. Not safe for you there._

She looked how he felt. Bereft. But she nodded her head. Aryn would always trust him to take care of her. 

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

He'd suspected as much for her. His lips twitched into a smirk. His mother and father would be quite bewildered by such a placement, much as they were often bewildered by Aryn herself. 

"Savage, Avery. To the stool, please."

His fingers brushed hers as they passed one another. _Be well, be safe, love you, miss you._

He sat down and before the hat even touched his head...

"SLYTHERIN!"


End file.
